


Ideology School Sucks!

by hauntedshoes



Category: Realicide - Grej (Web Series), The Centricide (Webseries)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Deconstruction, Friendship, Gen, Identity Issues, Neopronouns, Winged Hoppean, Worldbuilding, misgendering but its only once and immediately corrected, platonic left unity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:28:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 70,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27251965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hauntedshoes/pseuds/hauntedshoes
Summary: Within the confines of one of the most prolific schools in the city of centrists - a group of young Ideologies, yet to receive their powers, must go through to the rite of passage that determines the entire rest of their lives and, embody the ideas they were always supposed to.A comforting experience for some but highly depressing for others. Friendships ruined, and some find that they can't return to the home they had always know. Normal sacrifices for any Ideology who must confront who they were always meant to be.
Relationships: Ancap & Libertarian, Ancom & AuthLeft, Minarchist & Hoppean
Comments: 102
Kudos: 77





	1. 'The Navigator'

**Author's Note:**

> Human Names (which are relevant for all of one chapter!)  
> Ancom (Jay, uses qui/quem/cuius pronouns, which are Latin)  
> Ancap (Jack)  
> AuthLeft (Joseph)  
> AuthRight (James)

**Instructions for Final Ideological Examination (aka. ‘The Navigator’):**

**No Talking. No Communication Devices.**

**Any attempt to influence the result of another participant will be met by permeant exclusion.**

**Keep your headphones on and eyes on the screen.**

**Answer completely and totally honest. Though it is incredibly hard to cheat on this test, you WILL be caught if you do.**

**Once the test has started, you will have SIXTY MINUTES to every question.**

Ideologies don’t get their powers until they turn fifteen. 

Up until then, they were all the same. They looked just like apolitical centrists, no distinct colours, they were exactly alike. All of them had names too, actual names. But after everyone had taken ‘The Navigator’, they were only allowed to ever use their Ideology names. There was the legend that you would immediately forget your own, old name once the test was taken. 

Not just that, but there was also a chance that you could lose your friends, family and aspects of your self-concept within just an hour all because of ‘The Navigator’. 

Nowadays, ‘The Navigator’ was taken on a computer, but it seemed to have existed in the World of Ideas forever – that’s what everyone was told anyway and that it would force you to tell the truth, regardless of who you were. Everyone was also told that refusing to take ‘The Navigator’ and thus, actually have their powers recognise and manifest, would kill you. All that ‘undiscovered energy’ eating you up inside. You’d just fade away into nothing!

It was a rite of passage, but also an unavoidable risk. 

Most people didn’t worry. They weren’t afraid of ‘Ideology Adulthood’ as it might have been interpreted. Most of them already knew their results before they took ‘The Navigator’ and had already started mentally preparing for how they would end up. At least sixty per cent of young Ideologies would end up the same as their parents, and then a good percentage more would at least end up in the same ‘quadrant’ as their parents. There were always outliers, however, and some of those outliers didn’t even know that their thoughts were so ‘different’ to what they were supposed to be. 

Many were also excited to ‘receive their colour’ meaning their powers and charge that would guide them through the world. Regardless of what those powers were. 

Unless you were confirmed to be a centrist by ‘The Navigator’ your life was guaranteed to change, drastically but that’s just why Ideologies went to ‘school’ in the first place. They knew _what_ they were, but they didn’t know _how_ to be it. 

Places that were such a far off mystery to the young centrists that attended ‘Ideology’ school were the four most distant corners which you were only permitted to enter once you had received your colour. This was where the most extreme of Ideologies practised their craft, places that were used to strike fear into the small, unaligned centrists who didn’t know who they were yet. The other place that retained a sense of mystery, and also a sense of fear, was the dead centre of the school. 

Almost only the (centrist) teachers went back and forth from there. It was understood as a hatch – a long descending corridor that lead underground. Many of the youngsters speculated that this where ‘The Navigator’ was taken.

It was exactly halfway through the Ideologue Calendar, and a group of centrists were descending. 

“Did your Dad really give you that hat as a gift?” Jay pulled down the brim of the fedora over Jack’s face, causing him to scoff and Jay to laugh.

“Hey, lay off it! He meant it as a joke.” Jack folded his arms and looked down as he wandered down the staircase.

“Stop teasing him, Jay. He’s just as scared as the rest of us.” An astute young man stepped out from behind Jay and placed his and on cuius shoulder. Their difference in height, making it shocking that they were even in the same class. 

“Oh come on, you’re really scared about this Joseph?” Jay suggested playfully.

“Why wouldn’t I be? Aren’t you just making things worse for yourself, acting like that?” Joseph took his shoulder off of Jay and tried to pass quem on the stairs. 

“Why would I be making anything worse now? I already know what’s going to happen.”

“Well, good for you! Some of us don’t get that luxury!” Jack looked up for a brief second into Jay’s face, before groaning and stomping down the stairs to get away from the two of them. 

Jay and Joseph looked back at one another and then back down at Jack, who was already fading as he travelled down the dimly lit staircase. 

It was slightly worrying to Joseph, seeing Jack so on edge like this. He had always seemed to him like a more tense kind of person, even getting worked up about pop quizzes – he must have been dreading this for weeks. If his observations were correct, then Jack hadn’t spoken to anyone, not even in his school class, for weeks. Joseph felt even worse, knowing that his parents were teasing him behind his back, and even that Jay was playing along. 

“God, he’s always complaining, I would hate to be that weak.” Jay stepped aside as James attempted to push quem out the way as he was coming down the stairs.

James smiled at the two friends as he joined them on the same point of the staircase. “So, are you ready for this, you two?” 

“Could never be more ready!” Replied Jay, tugging on Joseph’s coat.

“Aaah, yes, yes, we can’t wait – can we Jay?” 

“No, not at all.” 

“Heh, good to see I’m not just in a class with a bunch of total losers. I’m gonna do so many things when I finally become a proper Ideology.” James tore his head away and smirked to himself. 

Joseph was slightly taken aback by the sudden arrival of James. James, who would only talk to anyone in order to tease them. He was the class bully, sort of, he didn’t have a particular person that he picked on he just kinda picked on anyone. He had mentioned at some point that he was just ‘testing the waters to see who was strong and who was weak’ but honestly, he was just blind to how much of an asshole he was. 

“What things are you exactly planning on doing, James?” Jay taunted him softly while Joseph felt the urge to pull Jay closer.

James bobbed his head back and forth. “Well, that’s something I can’t really tell.”

“I thought centrists had barley any powers anyway?” Joseph folded his arms. 

“Pft.” James stomped his foot against the step. “You’ll see, I’ll scare away those petty leftists getting near the Overton Window. I don’t want to destroy the thing. I’m not fucking chaotic like _someone’s_ parents. I just don’t want to see it pulled so far from the right like it is, and my parents agree. They believe in me.”

Jay groaned, but qui knew that James was kind of right.

“They believe in you, huh?” Joseph raised an eye-brow. 

James walked down another two steps, his face barely becoming visible as the soft shadows covered it. “One-hundred per cent. You’re gonna bet this will increase my grades too, the centrists getting to finally see that I’m one of them. Have fun being treated like trash for the rest of your school years, Jay. You know what those headmasters are like, best part is, you’ll deserve it.”

“Hey! You – they…”

“Oh, you know it’s true, Jay. They don’t care what happens to the ‘extremists’ in this place. Why do you think they section them off? It’s because you’re shitty and you should feel like shit. Best part is, you can’t help it. Designated second class citizen.”

As Joseph kept Jay close to him, he could feel Jay tense up and rattle. Qui was probably holding back, hitting James around the head.

James was the kinda guy who would find something that is target was sensitive about in order to get the most’ rise’ out of them. For Jay, it was the fact that cuius entire family were Anarcho-Communists. 

Not just that, almost all people had who were destined to become Ideologies would have two parents who matched in their Ideology, it was also the fact that Jay was really happy with that.

Despite Jay’s total lack of colour, it was obvious to most people what Ideology Jay would eventually be in the future, and that didn’t just come from the environment that qui grew up in. Cuius mannerisms, beliefs, reactions, heck even how cuius personality traits marked quem out as an ‘Ancom’. Naturally, people were a little uneasy around quem, but the teachers didn’t show any biases. Even though it was evidently clear what Jay was going to grow into, on the outside, he was still a powerless apolitical entity, possessing none of the physical traits of an actual ‘Ancom’ but that wouldn’t last for long. 

Jay was about to become a proper Ancom, and for the most part, qui was ready for it. The fact the centrists (aka the bulk of society) didn’t approve of quem never bothered quem that much, well, not unless James was trying to exploit it to piss quem off. 

“Anyhow, later losers, can’t wait to throw you both out of class, especially you, Jay.”

Jay started to growl. Joseph pat cuius back, hoping to calm quem down. James continued down the stairs, smirking pleasantly. 

Once James had disappeared, Jay let go of the tenseness in cuius body and instead became a little limp. “Joseph, we’re gonna go to the same place, aren’t we? We’re gonna be together?”

“Well, yes, you believe how I believe, and I believe how you believe.” 

“I know… I really convinced you, huh?”

“You totally did, Jay. I imagine we are inseparable now!”

“Heck yeah! Not even Ideology puberty can keep us apart!”

“Nope. We’ll be two Ancoms against the world.”

“Heck yeah!”

“Those capitalists, they’re gonna pay…”

Just as Jay raised cuius hand to give Joseph a high five, they heard someone calling from the bottom of the stairs – their homeroom teacher, Moderate Lee.

_“Uh, if anybody still lurking about on the upper floors, could they please come down to the testing area. We need to start soon so we can make sure that everyone accomplishes the task today.”_

Joseph blinked. “I know how much we both hate following orders, but I think we better get downstairs.”

“Yeah, you’re right! The more I think about it, the more this day couldn’t have come sooner.” 

Jay was a changeable sort when it came to cuius emotions. Qui had gotten over cuius anger quickly, as well as cuius nerves. Jay was genuinely happy to receive cuius colour today, as were most of the students. 

Joseph wasn’t exactly in the same place that Jack was, but he was nevertheless feeling apprehensive in a way he shouldn’t have been. A small thought passing in and out of his mind that he was going to disappoint Jay. 

_Of all the reasons to be scared today, why was he most worried about Jay?_

Joseph lifted his hand and passed it to Jay, the two of them descended the end of the stairwell, holding one another’s hand.

-

The room where ‘The Navigation’ would take place was nothing exciting. 

The students often had so many crazy ideas about where ‘The Navigation’ was supposed to happen or what was hidden deep in the dead centre of the school: this place lived up to neither of those legends. 

People passed around ideas of the test-taking place in a dark dungeon where you only answered questions with your mind, or in a room with no colour with an echo so great sound reverberated from every angle. However, the entire class found themselves lined up against the wall and staring at what seemed like an ordinary computer room. It was the kind of place where they would have a simple IT lesson: not take the most important quiz in their entire lives.

Plain blue carpet, cream coloured walls probably painted years ago and rows of computers with sets of headphones at their side. The was the sound of a rattling air conditioning in a distant corner. Recent technology was something, but the idea of taking ‘The Navigator’ on a computer screen felt a little strange. 

Moderate looked up and down upon the row of students, carefully making sure that everyone was accounted for: missing this would have been horribly dangerous.

After a minute or two of pacing, Moderate stepped back and started to speak, trembling as the words came out of his mouth. “You will have sixty minutes to finish. Do not talk to each other. Keep the headphones on, eyes on the screen and do not try to influence another person’s result. Remember: there is nothing to be afraid of.”

Joseph looked down the row to notice that Jack was already whimpering. Holding his hat by his side instead of wearing it. Looking down onto the ground. 

“I will call you out one by one, and you will go and sit down and take your place. I will tell you when the time starts, and you can start to answer the questions. Okay? Y-you get it?”

Moderate wasn’t doing a very good job at calming the students down. In fact, Moderate was more likely making the students feel worse each time he stuttered.

 _Sixty Minutes. It couldn’t be that bad. Just an hour and this will be over._ Joseph thought to himself while eyeing the computers across the other side of the room. The smell of dust entering his nose: they certainly didn’t clean this place often. The centre of the school treated as if it was sacred, but it was still only used once a year. 

Moderate shuffled his papers, the ones containing the students’ predictions’ so that the teachers at the school could at least have some preparations for the people they would have to be handling. Not that they would actually tell anyone those predictions. What use would they have for the students worrying about, what was, for now, a word on a piece of paper? Moderate cleared his throat and started reading out our names one by one.

As Jay was called, qui skipped over to the desk and immediately pressed the headphones against cuius head. Eyes transfixed.

Jack was supposed to follow, but instead of walking to the desk, he was just standing there still shaking. 

He had taken his hat off, clutching it by his side. He was hanging his head down, letting his long light brown hair fall over it. It looked as if he was hiding his tears, of course, this would have been easier if he was wearing that hat, a testament to how much he didn’t want to wear it. 

“Jack, we need you to go and sit down now. You can’t hold this up for anyone else.”

Jack shook his head. 

“God, fucking move. Stop being so weak, this should be the best thing that ever happens to you!” James, who was standing next to him, shoved his side, causing Jack to stumble.

“James! Don’t talk like that, not yet… you can’t talk like that here!”

Moderate kneeled over and started to pat Jack on the back gently. “Look, it’ll be fine. It’s going to be fine. It’ll be over and uh, if you’re surprised then that’s just fine too because it takes time for some people to just… grow into their role. It’s not frighting even if it’s… not what you expect. Just remember what I said earlier, okay?”

Jack tried to push away Moderate, trying to comfort him. Jack didn’t say anything but the sound of his crying was getting more and more noticeable. He tried to turn away, but then Moderate started tugging on his coat. “Please, come on, everyone else is waiting.”

“No, no, no. I can’t it’s going to –”

“What? Let me tell you, Jack, it can’t come up with something you don’t ‘like’ unexpected, yes, but whatever the outcome will be, you won’t be unhappy with it. You’ll be comfortable because it’s still you, okay? Uh, I know it’s not very Moderate of me to say this but who cares what the others think… if it’s what’s going to make you the most comfortable?” 

Jack stood there and mumbled before slowly placing the hat back on his head. 

“Hey, loser, just move along!”

“Ugh, James!”

Folding his arms and grabbing on to his jacket, Jack seemed to be fighting off the last of his tears. It was hard to tell if it was Moderate’s words or James’s shouting that had shushed him, however. He started to turn around, still gripping the jacket, and they walked forward. Trying to push past Moderate as if he wasn’t even there. 

“Jack… Oh?” Moderate looked up at him and then returned to standing as Jack seemed to push past. “At least you’re taking your seat.”

Eventually, the whole class was sitting, headphones in, one screen in front of them: but there was nothing but a blank screen on them, ‘The Navigation’ was yet to officially start.

Joseph could see Jack out of the corner of his eye. He looked to be searching for a place to put the fedora like hat, but there was barely any room between him and the other computer. He would have to wear the hat through the test too, whether he wanted to or not.

Joseph didn’t know what to expect, and neither did any of the other students. The computers were already a surprise. _What else was ‘The Navigator’ hiding?_

Either way, Joseph was keeping a frame of reference in his head for the kind of things Jay would put, they believed alike, so their result and colour would end up the same. However, Joseph feared that he might end up confused or stuck, and then he would think back to his friend. 

“Everyone you have… five, four, three, two, one… let the Navigation begin!”

The screen flashed to a bright white, and a buzz started in Joseph’s ears. He was sure that the headphones were still on, the sounds of the classroom had disappeared. Even after he blinked rapidly, the shining light still remained. _Wasn’t this supposed to be a test? Where are the questions?_ Joseph’s thoughts were screaming inside his head.

_“Greetings, Joseph. Welcome!”_

_“Welcome?”_ He spoke back without even opening his mouth. 

_“I’m the Navigator. Well, the version you will be taking today.”_

_“You’re the Navigator?”_ Joseph released he wasn’t actually speaking, so much as he was telepathically contacting it. 

_“For today, yes I am, and not only that, I am your Navigator, but that’s enough for introductions. I need to start my assessment.”_

_“Are you just going to analyse me?”_ Joseph asked the blank white void in front of him. 

_“Analyse? That’s a crude word. I do far more than that little Ideology.”_

Around him, Joseph saw lights gather, lights like small dancing orbs: blue, yellow, red, green, the colours of the World of Ideas as a whole was painted. They danced around him before forming themselves together in front him in the shape of a brightly glowing square.

_“Now, where were we, oh yes, today is the day you reach into your soul.”_

Joseph folded his arms and suspiciously eyed the strange conjunction in front of him. _“My soul? But I don’t believe in those.”_

_“Don’t be funny.”_

_“I’m not being funny with the most important moment of my life…”_

_“You’d be surprised, some of them really do. But I really have no need to mock you today either.”_

_“Y-You’d do that?”_ Joseph unfolded his arms and let them fall to the side. 

_“If I need to!”_ It sounded as if it was laughing, Joseph thought it was laughing.

_“Then what exactly do you want from me?”_

_“Well, what do you think you believe in? Go on and tell me, might as well make this easy so you can just go back to the world again?”_

_“Of course, ‘Navigator’”_ Joseph tried to speak with the most respect he could muster without his suspicion toward the entity get the better of him. 

_“Go ahead, explain as much or as little as you feel you need to. Then I’ll make your wish reality.”_

Joseph straightened his coat and stared ahead. _“Well, I’m an Anarcho-Communist, or an Ancom if you prefer.”_

_“Are you?”_

_“Yes, what else?”_

The lights ahead of him started to shuffle around. They moved, at first trading places with each other before the blue seemed to disappear completely, leaving all the other colours to merge into a murky brown.

_“What else? I’m just an Ancom. That’s all.”_

_“No, I mean, why are you an Ancom? Which of your beliefs reflect this? Or your Worldview?”_

Joseph stood there, thinking for a minute until what he thought was a solid answer in his favour entered his head. _“Well, my deep care for the working class, of course, I feel a sense of unity with their struggles and despise the economic inequality within the populous.”_

_“Excellent. That solidifies your place as a leftist for sure. I could tell you were being honest too. You really do know some parts of your soul well.”_

Joseph grinned inadvertently for a second before returning to his usual serious expression. 

_“That’s not the whole story though, is it… It doesn’t exactly explain why you call yourself an Anarcho-Communist, not completely. Can you go into more detail?”_

_“What details exactly?”_

_“You should know which one.”_

The lights ahead of him were now very brightly orange as if the red and green lights from before had merged perfectly. 

_“Uhhh. I support progressive ideas, you know? Like how my dear friend, Jay, express his-no, cuius non-binary gender.”_

_“Hmmm, you mentioned respecting your friend’s gender identity, yet you seemed to misgender them?”_

_“Everyone makes mistakes, alright!”_

_“Not that easily… and not on The Navigator, Leftie.”_

Joseph would have backed away if this hypothetical mind-space wasn’t so small.

_“Despite your mistake, I can tell that you deeply care about this friend, don’t you? Qui has found cuius way into your soul too. You do have quite a bond.”_

_“Y-y-yes, we do…”_

Joseph started to feel… weird. Like there was a prickling sensation inside his chest. Like someone was plucking at his insides. It didn’t hurt, but it was uncomfortable – if that was even a description of it.

_“Sadly, ‘bond’ isn’t what I go by. There’s a lot more to which societal ideals you feel comfortable embodying, living out, inescapably. Friendship isn’t the determiner.”_

_“I know. Navigator, I get it – but!”_

_“But what? Just wanting to be progressive doesn’t make one an anarchist – I’m sure you know that. There are lots of ways of governing that can respect your friend’s identity just as you do. You get that, right?”_

_“I get it. I do. I understand that.”_

Joseph wondered if this was the kind of thing ‘The Navigator’ said to everyone or if its answers were different. _How much of this was code? How much of this was real?_ Joseph noticed it was trying to imply that there were other ideas in his head that he was open to. He felt his pulse quicken. This – thing, whatever it was supposed to be was playing with him.

_“So, what else do you want? And I mean what do you really want.”_

_“I think that I would like… me and Jay, to be safe, safe from the people who want to exploit us! And I want that for everyone else too!”_

_“Exploit in what way, Leftie?”_

The phrase ‘Leftie’ it was starting to sound less like an insult to Joseph, and more like a compliment. 

_“You know, exploit our labour, reduce our worth to our output, that kind of thing!”_

_“Well, what’s the best way to do that?”_

_“The best way?”_

_“The best way for you, the best way you think we should all do things? How would you protect Jay… and everyone else for that matter…”_

_“Well, I… we should… have…”_

_“You sound afraid to speak.”_

Joseph was afraid to speak.

_“You shouldn’t be scared, you have an answer, I can tell. You’re no lost soul, Leftie. You know what you think and why you think it.”_

With something still pulling at him inside his chest, Joseph attempted to reach up to the dazzling orange lights, but they vanished the moment he touched them. They disappeared behind him.

_“Hmph Hm. What was that for?”_

The pain inside his chest swelled as he felt the need to turn around – the bright orange lights were brighter than before – almost turning the entire setting behind it orange.

_“You’re so scared that you’ll attack me? You must be really fighting against something, huh?”_

Joseph shut his eyes and fought off the sensation of crying. However, his fight didn’t last long. The lights, ‘The Navigator’ was forcing his eyes open. ‘The Navigator’ wanted Joseph to stare at it. Joseph coughed as the weight on his chest started to grow heavier – it was less like prickling and more of like a metallic brick hitting his chest. Even the air pressure was growing heavier. 

He realised what was happening, he couldn’t get out of this by lying. 

Even though Joseph still wanted to be with Jay. He had to acknowledge that his beliefs, those he had developed throughout his childhood and beyond that. Those of his parents and upbringing that he hadn’t managed to remove – because they had made sense to him. 

He could never fully adapt to Jay’s core beliefs. Not really. He had thought that because he and Jay had some things in common that they shared economic ideas that convincing himself to convert for quem would have been simple. He had never managed to internalise those beliefs because they had never really made sense to him. 

It was like a performance, a show he had put on, just for Jay. And now Joseph was being called out for it. 

Joseph had taken his thoughts on ‘The Navigator’ far too loosely. He had thought, that as a simple test, a system he could have ‘tricked’ it by filling in the answers as they came up. Not lie by choice but believe his own lies true enough that he could sway the judgement. He hadn’t expected a ‘conversation’ of a sort like this.

_“You know… maybe I am a little scared.”_

_“I can tell, and I know that you realise that.”_

Joseph just nodded.

_“You know, as I see inside your mind, I’ll save you the trouble of explaining yourself – I’ll just tell you.”_

_“Tell me?”_

_“You’re afraid of losing quem, Jay. So much to the point that you tried to sacrifice your worldview but that never worked. Deep down, you’re still a statist, aren’t you?”_

_“T-the best way to look out for people as a whole, including traits like their gender or background, is a strong state to enforce those rules…”_

_“And?”_

_“And class will always be the most important thing…”_

_“Jay would say that they are all important, wouldn’t qui?”_

_“Well, qui would?”_

_“But not you, see you’re not the same.”_

_“No, we’re not.”_

The pounding in his chest was starting to slow - the atmosphere returning to normal. However, as the pain ceased as the feeling of defeat overcame him. He was losing something, but he was also gaining something: not that it was something that he really wanted. The more he realised this, the more he saw the orange shade fading – replaced by just a pure red. 

_“You’re just like you always have been. You belong in the Authoritarian Left quadrant, where you’ve always lived, and where you’re happy to live.”_

_“Happy? Yeah, I guess…”_

_“You have no reason to go against that, do you? To fight against how you’ve always seen the world. And of course, you’re a strong spirit so you’d also fight to keep your worldview and the place that allows you to have it, right?”_

_“Of course! I would so gladly fight for workers rights! Nothing less!”_

_“Look at that enthusiasm you have, I’m shocked you didn’t realise your colour earlier!”_

The Navigator laughed. It laughed and not in a mocking tone, but in a joyful one. 

_“There’s no point in living in a world that you neither understand and you wouldn’t choose to fight for, is it? Even if your friend is there, you aren’t quem, you cannot live in cuius world. You don’t think the same, and if you want to know the future, you never will. The idea of the state disappearing, it frightens you, immeasurably, whereas when Jay thinks about it, qui becomes immeasurably happy.”_

_“I get it, I get it.”_ Joseph, feeling immeasurably weaker felt himself kneeling before the lights… ‘The Navigator’ his Navigator. “I’m _getting to know who I am and it’s not who I thought.”_

_“Nonsense, Commie, you’re exactly who you thought.”_

_“Wait! Commie?”_ Joseph’s eyes widened, they looked as if they were bursting. _“What do you mean, Commie?”_

_“I mean, you’re finished. We’re done here. The test is now complete.”_

The red light engulfed everything and then diluted, and then vanished. There was a screech that ran through Joseph’s ears – louder than anything he had ever heard before. He would have fallen back in distress if he had had a body at all. 

It was only seconds, but for those few seconds, Joseph had become nothing but energy – bodyless – an entity lost within the red mist and everything purposeful that the World of Ideas had to offer him. 

When Joseph reformed, he awoke, and he wasn’t Joseph anymore.


	2. Real Unity?

Ancom, who was Jay just a few minutes ago, rubbed cuius eyes and looked around the classroom they had supposedly taken the test in. 

_Huh. That was kinda funny. I thought that was supposed to be an hour-long test!_

The newly formed Ancom yawned and then looked down at cuius bright green skin. Qui realised that qui was glowing slightly, a soft light of a soothing colour, even cuius very appearance brought peace to quem. Ancom had never felt more secure in cuius identity, more comfortable in cuius own skin.

Cuius bliss was broken when qui heard screaming coming from somewhere else in the classroom. Qui couldn’t tell who it was – qui was unable to recognise the scream. Still, a sense of concern hit Ancom. 

Ancom got off of the chair and pushed it aside. Out of the corner of cuius eye qui could see one of the other students being dragged away by one of the school nurses. 

“This wasn’t what I was supposed to be. GET OFF ME.”

The nurse was carrying a yellow figure in a fedora hat – wait, was that Jack?

Ancom had thought that the whole ‘fedora’ thing had been a joke by his parents, not that there was an actual risk of him becoming what his entire family hated. 

The nurse didn’t speak, but Jack (who was now a yellow-coloured, likely capitalist Ideology) continued screaming as if he was in pain. 

_Pain? From the Navigator?_ Although Ancom had obviously heard stories about some people having painful experiences with the test, after cuius own experience, qui was starting to believe that such a sounded like an impossibility.

Ancom had felt such joy while qui was inside of The Navigator, though qui could not remember everything that it had said, qui could only remember the warmth that qui had felt and the emotional comfort from the realisation. That was what was real to Ancom.

Seeing one of cuius former friends screaming snapped quem out of cuius’ trance’. There was far more to life than whatever was making Ancom happy at the time – Ancom knew that but would qui really rush to help a capitalist though?

Either way, the new capitalist was dragged out of the classroom. Ancom noticed how all the, now brightly coloured, faces looked up to see the screaming Ideology leaving the room by force. Some of them also had panic-stricken, some of them trembling, still in shock at whatever they had encountered. Ancom wanted to empathise with them but found that qui was unable too. 

And it wasn’t just down to cuius easy experience of ‘The Navigator’. 

Ancom was an easily angered person, qui wasn’t going to deny that. If someone had to judge cuius opinions, especially for no reason Ancom would find quemself snapping. People were wary of crossing the person that had now become Ancom. However, as qui found quemselves staring at all of these new Ideologies – it was clear who the hateful people were, those that Ancom could never feel an emotional affinity for and now even looking upon these people was filling quem with a quiet sense of rage.

After that dramatic turn of events, Moderate made himself front and centre of the room again. Thinking about it: Ancom would be very happy if he would never get to see that smiling centrist face again. If qui was a real Anarcho-Communist now, then that was looking like a good possibility.

“I’m so glad that most of you have gotten through ‘The Navigator’ just fine,” Moderate said. 

After he said that, the conditions of the classroom got even worse.

There was a large _‘crash’_ that sounded like one of the computer room chairs falling onto the floor. Said’ _crash’_ was then followed by a loud exclamation of _“Fuck!”_

Ancom, and many of the other students: different Ideologies still had similar reactions to someone yelling _‘Fuck’_ on the other side of the room.

“Hey, it’s okay, let me help you get up!”

“Ugh, no let me do it!”

Some blue-yellow coloured Ideology – likely another capitalist of some kind was kneeling over a second yellow-coloured Ideology. Seeing a couple of capitalists in pain was mildly amusing to Ancom, but these two looked to be under such stress and not the kind that qui could cause if qui had a baseball bat at cuius side. 

Quite oddly, in fact, one of the Ideology’s had grown a rather impressive set of bird wings. 

_Some capitalist had fallen down on his back, screeching because he had grown wings?_

Well, screeching and coughing. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to help you up?”

“I don’t need people to carry me!” 

“Uh, you can’t get up…” the other capitalist looked around at all of the people surrounding him. “You really need to get out of here.”

The winged capitalist tried to flap wildly against the makeshift carpet, breathing heavily as trying to operate his new limbs drained all of his energy, like an animal caught in a trap. Eventually, his coughing became heaving like he was about to throw up. 

Moderate came out from behind the rows of computers at the front of the classroom. “Wait what’s going on. I thought everyone had finished…” 

When Moderate walked in, a bunch of students turned his gaze to him. They saw his eyes widen in shock, before shaking his head and trying to return himself to reality. “This is rare but, I can’t deny that this something that happens sometimes.”

“Why didn’t you fucking tell us unaligned bastard?” the winged capitalist hissed. 

“Well, I didn’t expect it to happen, I’ve only ever seen it one other time.”

“One other time? Once?!” 

“He needs to go to the school nurse; otherwise he’s going to break something… or at least throw up on his shirt,” his friend replied. 

Moderate nodded and instructed everyone to back away from the scene of the injury. Pushing his way through, he tried to list the head of the winged capitalist up and then grab his shoulders. His friend grabbed his legs, and the two of them carried the humanoid bird away – much to his detest. 

“Hey, I’m sorry, Hoppean.”

“I’m not taking their free medical help!” 

This ‘Hoppean’ continued to try and kick his friend as they started to make their way back up the staircase. 

Another voice came from amongst the crowd, one with an unusual echo. “You know I, kinda feel a little weird too. I think I’ll leave to get some fresh air.” 

A bright orange figure, however, one that Ancom could somehow instinctively tell was another anarchist. There was something, off about them, though, and it wasn’t anything Ideological either. It was like they were, flashing in and out of existence. Between two places at once. A vague and pulsing figure was layered on what looked like their physical body. They also looked as if they had two sets of eyes. But not as if they had physically grown a pair of eyes, it was likely due to them jolting in and out of existence. 

The figure stared back at the menagerie of entities that were nearly pilled on top of each other because they were watching a dude who grew wings quietly sob to himself. 

At least the person who was physically unstable against reality seemed a lot calmer about it, probably more calm about it than a decent portion of the room. 

Looking at everyone, they dropped their shoulders and frowned. “Guess I’ll be out of here then.” 

Ancom could almost see separate copies of them at each point of the classroom as they traversed and then one for each step of the stairwell that they walked up. 

After most of the students who had undergone, stranger, experiences within ‘The Navigator’ everyone else started to part and chatter amongst one another. Whether or not they agreed with the morality of the teacher having authority over them: they had all been left without guidance. The energy of the conversations varying from calm, with a hint of surprise to panicked ramblings. It hadn’t occurred to Ancom how many people must have got results that they hadn’t expected.

Not only that, but these ‘results’ would be something that they would have to live with their entire lives, and something that would only get stronger the longer they existed. Most Ideologies didn’t physically ‘age’ much past their early twenties that’s where most of their powers solidified. This made a lot of them remain the fiery and stubborn assholes throughout their lifetimes until a lot of them died in conflicts against their opposing quadrants. Ancom could still get in touch with some of cuius empathy, and qui wanted to. Qui wanted to imagine what it might have been like to have to take on Ideology, one you might have not even considered or might be confused by. 

Ancom hadn’t thought it a possibility at first, that ‘The Navigator’ could give people results that they didn’t want and didn’t make them happy. 

The more qui thought about it, the more Ancom started to feel ‘off’ and the more another thought, someone else, drifted into cuius mind. 

_‘Holy shit, where was Joseph!’_

Ancom hadn’t seen another student coloured exactly like qui was, if there was another Ancom in the room, a kind that was nearly identical to quem then qui would have been able to quickly spot them. However, there was no such person here.

_‘Then what happened to Joseph?”_

Qui was suddenly hit by a wave of sadness. Today was supposed to be a good day for Ancom. Qui was supposed to become what qui truly wanted to be, and qui was going to have cuius friend alongside quem to make everything better, heck, everything easy. 

Ancom didn’t want to do this alone that and whatever Joseph had become it was likely, in cuius mind, something that was against his will.

_‘Would I call out for Joseph? What would his new name even be?’_

Ancom could only go off of his appearance, height, facial expression – his former eye and hair colour completely washed out by whatever new colour he had taken on as an expression of his alignment. But Joseph had been such a close friend, Ancom’s closet friend in fact. Ancom should have been able to identify cuius long-held friend, right? Even with the layers and layers of whatever Ideology he had to take on, physically, mentally, whatever else.

Qui had to find him. Qui couldn’t let all of cuius new uh, Ideology-instincts or whatever cloud cuius from reaching cuius dear friend! One trait Ancom did remember, and every so clearly, one that wouldn’t be changed by ‘The Navigator’ or by anything else. His height. 

Joseph had always been tall, and, although Ancom hated to admit it, it kinda made his Ushanka suit him even better. To find Joseph, he really only needed to speak to the tallest member of the class. 

Some of the hurried and panicked discussion had died down, and students started to slowly leave the classroom - many of them in uncertain directions. A lot of them were still obviously confused, some of them even physically unstable – using the various tables and computers situated around the room. As Ancom looked at the students brushing past quem one by one, qui saw them, what, who was supposed to be Joseph – who once was Joseph. 

Ancom could recognise him from, the hat, the coat that he liked to wear around – the one which he mentioned came from a relative, Ancom remembered how Joseph would mention that the design was famous in his village and the villages around him. Joseph never took the coat off, even in the heat of the day.

Ancom reached out and grabbed the hem of the coat, tugging at it. Joseph – what could his name be now? He was all red. Looking at him, who was once Joseph, Ancom remembered that this was very much like his parents looked, that same shade of red. 

_Had Joseph really just gone and betrayed me… to be as he was before?_

_Had he really rejected everything that we were going to be?_

He turned around.

“Gaah, Joseph!...?” Ancom nearly screamed.

Joseph, whatever his new name was, looked down at Ancom with the same kindly face that he always seemed to have. It was clear that he hadn’t changed, well, not much, not emotionally. “Y-yes J-Jay?”

The idea that the two of them were close friends in High School before ‘the Navigator’, and thus will always know one another’s former or ‘real’ names gave them a special bond. Despite the myth of losing or forgetting one’s own name, it was something that only happened in rare circumstances: likely something to scare people away from using them in the real world. On an ‘identity’ level, Ancom was technically still Jay as much as qui was Ancom. But officially, and on a societal level, Jay was dead. 

Any day from ‘The Navigator’ test onwards meant that Ideologies HAD to almost always use their Ideology names in public and for any of those tied up with centrist and authoritarian areas – on formal documents too. The school had likely already started making preparations based on their new ‘names’ and social standings – it was likely just a quick change in the internal school computer systems. A few buttons clicked, and all their real names were gone for good and became only limited information shared between two parties who really really trusted each other. Ancom didn’t even know cuius own parent’s names, and it was like that for pretty much everyone else. 

“Uh, what is it, your name now, what is it?” Ancom asked, looking upward with unease.

“My name, you mean my Ideology name… don’t you, uhh ummm.” Joseph reflected the same unease in his face, afraid to call Ancom by cuius real name, but also afraid to just guess cuius Ideology outright without asking quem. 

“The ‘Navigator’ told me that it’s just ‘Communist’ but uh, you can call me ‘Commie’ eh? It’s a lot more chummy, and we can still be like comrades, no?”

“Comrades I mean…” Ancom mulled over the idea inside of cuius head. From what Ancom understood of how the ‘World of Ideas; classified its citizens: or rather, how the centrists that powered it did – a regular ‘Communist’ was seen as almost a world away from what it would call an ‘Ancom’. It’s little phrasings and understandings were strange like that.

Those who were ‘Ancoms’ lived in the far south-westerly region, whereas what it called ‘Communists’ lived in the far north-westerly regions. The entire environment – political and physical was totally different there. From what Ancom knew about these ‘Communists’ (Many of whom, Ancom could only remember as a member of Joseph or uh, ‘Commies’ family) was that they lived in an ‘authoritarian’ society one might have said. It was also a lot colder in the North, far more unforgiving. 

However, another thing Ancom did know about them was that they seemed to often be on friendly terms with the Anarchists who lived in the South. Heck, it could have been one of the many reasons that the two of them had been so drawn to each other back when they were just ‘Jay’ and ‘Joseph’. 

Some idea that was floated around whenever they would go and visit each other, people mentioning ‘Leftist Unity’ or something. Whatever that was, if it helped Ancom keep a friend, qui was willing to show an interest in it. Joseph, Commie, wasn’t going to leave quem. 

“I guess, we could, I’m the Ancom I expected to be so…” Ancom’s eyes moved up and down. Commie was such a large figure, it was like his imposing stature made the entire room seem red. It was if Ancom didn’t want to look at him, qui didn’t want to be reminded of the fate that Commie was now ‘damned’ into having.

 _Damned, well what if he enjoyed it or was going to enjoy it, being just a ‘Communist’?_ Ancom shivered.

“You’re still an Ancom, eh? Explains all the green!” 

The two of them laughed nervously, face to face with one another. 

“Y-yeah. I mean it’s how I expected it to go! Just a few minutes and now I look like this! It’s crazy isn’t it? Was that test really supposed to be an hour?”

“Minutes? That’s all it took you?”

“Well, yeah, what do ya mean?”

“It certainly felt like an hour for me, maybe even more. Like, an hour and a half, two hours maybe?”

“You really felt like that you were in there for hours? Wait-what happened in there? The only thing that happened was that I was told I was an Ancom like I knew and then I just felt a wave of bliss come over me and… everything kinda made sense…like I was where I was supposed to be and stuff.”

 _Like I was supposed to be there._ Ancom was still kind of stunned that qui had thought of that sentence. If qui was really an anarchist like qui knew, then why was qui so happy with a system, likely one with an agenda, telling quem that. The obvious distress of almost everyone else looked to have been going through had also bothered Ancom. 

_Should I really be accepting this so casually?_

“I was there for a while, comrade. It wasn’t exactly simple either… ‘The Navigator’ asked me questions, lots of questions, questions that I hadn’t considered before.” Commie said.

“I mean, it is said to draw the truth outta you, right?”

“Yes, but it doesn’t do it easily, it really put me on the spot. The questions were, hard to answer, but I eventually found out that I was hiding… hiding from what I really thought about myself and saw the world comrade. I did want to go with you, and with every fibre of my being, I believed that we were the same. But, not everything inside my mind could be undone, my old life was still there, I could have never been a full anarchist, never.”

“Never?”

“I didn’t have it in me, comrade.”

“We’re gonna have lessons in completely different areas of the school then.” Ancom laughed nervously. “There’s gonna split us up, aren’t they?”

“If that’s the way you really see it, Ancom.”

“Well, how do you see it? Ancom sighed.

“I told you, we’re still comrades, even if we’re not gonna get to see each other every day. But we can still believe in Leftist Unity, right?” Ancom saw the light on Commie’s face grow to a warmer red. 

“Leftist Unity? Well, yes!”

Ancom wondered if Commie knew what that meant. Ancom didn’t even know if qui knew what that meant. ‘Leftist Unity’. Ancom didn’t know much about World of Ideas relations. 

“See, there is hope for us two yet, Ancom!”

“I – I guess you’re right. Maybe on the odd day that we do actually see each other, we could plan to go and see each other again. Though my parents might find it kinda weird because they expected you to be an Anarchist as well…”

“We’ll think about it when the time comes, Ancom.”

As Ancom nodded, qui noticed quemselves glow brighter too. A glow, perhaps even more luminous than when Ancom had first woken up after receiving cuius colour. Even if they weren’t the same Ideology, they could at least find some way to work together. 

Whoever the ‘right’ were, they were still a threat to both of them, both of their lives, and both of their existences.

They left the school together as best friends for the last time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter.  
> Jack's/Ancap's chapter is next. We'll get to see just how lost in the world he really is.


	3. The Greatest Evil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note: The apostrophes around the name 'Ancap' is done to represent the idea he can't fully accept his name yet.  
> "Whenever I write speech I use quotation marks anyway".

“What do you mean I can’t take these off!” The winged Ideology was still yelling into the only full-length mirror in the entire school. 

“B-be careful, you’ll fall.” His friend was standing behind him, placing his hand on his shoulder. 

Jack could see him out the corner of his eye, between bouts of crying, which had meant that this Ideology had been (trying) to centre himself for an uncountable amount of minutes.

“I’ve told you, stop yelling at me… no, they don’t come off. I thought you knew this was a mutation in Hoppeans?”

“Well, uh, it shouldn’t have been me, anyway, get them off me!”

Every so often the so-called Hoppean would walk backwards, his wings flapping like a bird caught in a net, or a less metaphorical bird caught in a trap. 

_ Wait, Ancap, ‘Anarcho-Capitalist’ whatever the fuck, wasn’t that what he was supposed to be?  _

He wasn’t used to calling himself that – he didn’t want to – but resisting felt painful. Like another twinge of sadness hitting him or a memory of ‘The Navigator’ that was now deeply ingrained within him – even physically. How this inescapable entity had now decided everything that he should be. 

Yeah, there were some myths of extended time periods spent in ‘The Navigator’. Not that they were something that was often spoken about. As far as everyone knew and as far as everyone was told: the test was sixty minutes long. Thus, they were never prepared for something like Jack had just faced.

_ Jack, Ancap, whatever. There was supposed to be some kind of risk attached to the name Jack, wasn’t there?  _

Fuck it, he wanted to use his own name, he will, he was Jack, he refused to believe that he was ‘Ancap’ especially after… all that happened to him. Even if he wasn’t supposed to, even if insisting he was still ‘Jack’ just hurt him even more. 

_ You go in as just anyone, you come out of it an Ideology, right? That’s how it’s supposed to work.  _

In fact, looking at the bland, white, glowing medical room was incredibly jarring for him. It was such a light he felt he hadn’t seen in over a month. He had been used to the dark and dreary atmosphere of ‘The Navigator’ or at least the image that it had burned into his mind – and the world. 

It had created an entirely different world for him, a world that he was made to watch as it was destroyed. 

At first, Jack had thought that he was just being shown an image of the world, well, his world, his home, maybe his old home now as it was like a demonstration. He thought that he was just going to be shown what he had and then maybe persuaded to stay. He had hoped that he would be told that all of his anxiety, jokes from by his parents, and even more hurtful, from his other classmates were that, just jokes, and that they meant nothing. 

If the test was only sixty minutes long, then ‘The Navigator’ wouldn’t have had time to destroy everything that he had known and then eventually his spirit too.

After being forced to reflect, he had always been out-of-place living in his little Socialist town. He had always seen in as a peaceful place, but because of his sheltered nature, and to a certain extent upbringing he never really belonged there. 

That region, his home, it was supposedly famed for its community spirit, but it was something that Jack’s shut away self could never connect to. He was just used to it before. He’d find himself mostly alone, his parents were there for him, sure, but they didn’t really count? 

There were only two reasons Jack was really content there (if he would ever really be content there again was another question entirely) was how physically beautiful he had found the place. A lot of its roads and houses had little in the way of variation, yes but at the same time, its atmosphere produced tranquillity - the cleanliness of its rivers and streams which weaved throughout the town, the soft snowfall through half of the calendar year. That and it was still Jack’s home, where he was brought up - and Jack really wasn’t the kind to be comfortable with travelling around a lot – or the sort of person to enjoy changing around his life much at all really. He was happy with what he was comfortable with, or, at least, he thought so.

‘The Navigator’ wanted to destroy all of that, though. Despite being content in that town, and content being alone, he never understood the whole ‘capitalism is the greatest evil’ rhetoric which everyone seemed to agree on. Jack had willingly absorbed the information and had kind of understood and assimilated it, but it was more like a rhetoric that he repeated in his mind. He was content with it, in that he accepted it. 

That acceptance hadn’t really made him happy, though, not truly, and he had just started to realise that. Not just the rhetoric even, he was told by ‘The Navigator’ that his life there wasn’t just mediocre but was degrading him. That it would continue to fall apart unless he accepted his actual thoughts. 

‘The Navigator’ showed him that devastation and showed him that devastation slowly like lumps of solid metal corroding until it was made to melt. ‘The Navigator’ had to rip away everything that Jack, no Ancap’s old life held so it could tell him what true happiness meant.

Jack wasn’t happy. Not like this. His old mentality still ingrained in his mind, capitalism being evil, and by consequence, him being evil because he was a capitalist. 

He had watched first-hand, over what felt like months, how ‘The Navigator’ tore that image of his old town apart and taught him that it was supposed to be a metaphor for his suffering if he were to stay there and how he viewed the world without capitalism to support it. 

So many deaths of the people he knew, even if only vaguely who they were supposed to be. The mass starvation that he could do nothing about because he couldn’t change to policies of the town, even his own parents they…

Still overwhelmed, Jack was overly focused on the light coming from his hands – a faint light, but the yellow glow still noticeable. All Ideologies, once they had their colours, glowed with a light, which was brighter the happier they were. At the moment Jack was glowing a very faint yellow, but a very faint yellow was too much yellow for his liking, he wasn’t supposed to be yellow at all. It probably sounded kind of weird, hating your body over a faint glow that was now attached to it. 

Jack hadn’t even looked at a mirror yet, and he hated himself.

Like he would even want to look in one though; partly because he knew he would be driven to tears and partly because that weird, winged dude was just taking up the whole thing. 

The nurse, a Moralist, was also crowded around him now. Instead of trying to comfort him about growing an extra pair of limbs, they were stretching it out and going through each of the layers as if trying to analyse it, just making ‘Hoppean’ angrier and angrier. 

“Hmm, these, white and blue-tinted, aside from the obvious yellow hint of course, large, thin, soaring wings, they kind of remind me of that of a seagull. Did you think about that?” 

“Well, what do you fucking think? I’ve spent most of my time either trying to stay up or collapsing like some kind of animal.” Jack could still see him clinging to the mirror as Moralist poked at the feathers. “I thought you were supposed to be  _ moral  _ Moralist. I don’t get what’s moral about trying to pull my limbs off.”

“Hey, I’m also the school nurse, my job is also to cure you, or at least see what is causing your distress,” Moralist replied.

“Uh, dude, If I were to make a suggestion, could you please leave him alone? Aren’t there like two other students in this room who are also having existential breakdowns?” the other Ideology tapped on Moralist’s shoulder and gestured towards Jack and the other guy who was sitting next to him. 

Jack, who was too busy wallowing in his own sorrow, had been completely ignoring the jittering, orange Ideology sitting next to him. After a brief look, he for sure did appear… strange.

Jack didn’t have the want and felt as if he didn’t have the time to care for other people right now. Probably something that could have been taboo back in his old Socialist hometown now that he thought about it. 

He could spend time, small amounts of time glancing up at what everyone else was doing but then he would eventually return to staring at himself, wondering how he let this happen and why he had to be the ‘victim’ of this. Naturally, this would lead him back into feeling as if he was still stuck in that awful replica of his hometown ‘The Navigator’ had decided to make for him.

It had been a cage. That picturesque red place had become his cage. ‘The Navigators’ voice fluxing in and out mostly just to taunt him, taunt him for how he still wanted to remain in his old life again and how he couldn’t escape unless he was ready to change completely.

When he got out after all those stretched out hours closed in that small personal hell, he still wasn’t ready to change. 

_ Would my old home even take me back? _

Jack – Ancap, felt himself crying again, shaking. He pushed his hands into his eyes and shut them. His glow would just get more faint and sickly with each shed tear, but he still didn’t want to look at it. 

It had probably reached night-time by now. The way ‘The Navigator’ played with time and stretched that hour of ‘test time’ into something so long. That was weighing on his sense too, his understanding of time. All these new hours passing by, outside his head, they felt as if they were going so much longer than when he was trapped under the whim of ‘The Navigator’.

“Hey, are you doing alright there?” 

Jack turned his head to look upward, it wasn’t the school nurse looking down on him. Moralist had already moved on from him (he probably saw him as a worthless cause anyway) but one of two other Ideologies who were standing around the mirror earlier.

The yellow/blue one was holding the winged one’s hand, he seemed to have gained some sense of being able to stand up straight by now.

Jack didn’t reply, but he did look up to them, still sniffing, his tears not fully dry yet.

One blue eye, one yellow eye with the bright yellow frame being the clear defining colour. 

“M-Minarchist?” Jack inadvertently stuttered out. 

He knew that other Ideologies within the same quadrant could recognise one another but had obviously never experienced it himself, colourless Ideologies having no such abilities.

Jack had never seen an Ideology like this before, not once in his life. He couldn’t tell if the immediate recognition of them made him more comforted or distressed.

“A-Ancap, Ancap, right?!” Minarchist replied.

_ Ancap? Oh shit, he noticed too.  _

He wondered if he had known Minarchist as a student before, his name and face escaped him. He was enough of an acquaintance so that the transformation into a Minarchist had made those former things irrelevant. 

_ I can’t tell him I was Jack before because that would mean… _

Despite not being able to fully accept his ‘new’ Ideology name, blurting out his original, true name, which still hung heavy in his head – felt wrong. Not on some moral level (like an Ancap was supposed to care about that stuff, right?) but on a personal level, like it was a danger. He wasn’t a young proto-Ideology anymore, he was a real one. 

With some hesitation, Jack, Ancap, could only stutter out, “Yes, t-that’s right.”

“Oh, hey! That’s super cool! We’re from Ancapistan actually, me and Hoppean here!”

The winged Hoppean slowly lifted his hand to gesture a waving motion. 

“You-You’re both from Ancapistan?”

“Yeah, we are!” The Minarchist seemed proud of himself. “You aren’t I take it?”

‘Ancap’ shook his head.

“Oh, where do you come from then? You must have at least visited?”

‘Ancap’ shook his head again.

“Seriously?” Minarchist let out a small laugh. “Where did you come from originally then?”

_ Shit. Shit. Am I supposed to tell him that? _

“Somewhere far from there…”

He had still been wearing his hat. He hadn’t taken the fedora off during the simulation. It was on his head all those imaginary months, and it hadn’t fallen off his head when the nurses dragged him to the medical room. It was still on his head now. He guessed that he did look like a much more convincing Ancap when he was wearing it, a garment that LibRights were stereotyped for wearing. He still didn’t even want to be an Ancap, and yet when other people had started treating him like one, he felt like an impostor of an Ancap, almost as if he  _ did  _ want this.

“Really? I mean, I guess that explains the outburst at least…”

“Y-you saw that, did you?” The level of embarrassment that ‘Ancap’ had in him from the screaming incident wasn’t on the same level as his discomfort with trying to accept his new Ideology.

“Uh, well, a bit of it. I was mostly helping Hoppean here with his ‘wing’ situation,” Minarchist said. 

Hoppean smirked before returning to his normal grumpy expression.

“Uh, yeah, that makes sense…”

“Say, since you’re a new radical LibRight, heck, an Ancap of all things, would you like to come get coffee with us? I could tell you a lot about Ancapistan, plus, Hoppean is gonna need some black coffee after, well, look at him…”

“Hey! Don’t mock this!” Hoppean yelled.

“I wouldn’t do that! Anyway, wanna come with us, new Ancap?” Minarchist put forward his hand, and ‘Ancap’ nervously moved towards it.

‘Ancap’ shook Minarchist’s hand. I could feel how sweaty his own hands were from all the worrying in comparison to Minarchist’s who should have gone through at least some stress considering his friend had just grown wings. “Uh, well, sure.”

‘Ancap’ thought that it was night outside and thus too late, but he could consider this a way to procrastinate on going home. He had no idea what to expect from his parents, he was already crushed over not being able to see them in so long, to think that they might just reject him as soon as he got home was not something that he was ready to face.

That and, well, like it or not, he did feel an instant connection seeing Minarchist and Hoppean up close. Like a sense of familiarity. As if he had just met someone he hadn’t seen in a long time. Even if he couldn’t become friends with Minarchist and Hoppean, he could maybe at least take a chance to learn about the place he might be forced to spend the rest of his life in. 

While holding onto Minarchist’s hand. Ancap stood up, causing nearly all three of them to fall over at once.

-

To the surprise of ‘Ancap’, it wasn’t nigh time when he left the school complex but rather twilight. 

A dusty orange hue lit up the sky, changing to yellow and then to navy black. The group was moving swiftly toward the south-easterly zone of the centrist city. Of course, he had never been to Ancapistan, but he had never been to the easterly areas of the city either. His ‘influence’ from right-wing ‘cultural’ norms had been little to none. This made this entire development of him becoming an Ancap even more unusual. 

_ Maybe someone would like to review me in their newspaper when I stop crying all the time? _

There wasn’t really much of a difference between the centre LibRight living quarters and those of the centre AuthLeft (which ‘Ancap’ had seen every day whilst travelling home). There were still a lot clear and white coloured buildings of a similar style, albeit there were a few more moderately sized skyscrapers, and the colour yellow was more present on some of the businesses. Minarchist and Hoppean seemed to know the layout of the district well, manoeuvring their way fluidly through the busy roadways and careless drivers. Even Hoppean seemed to be perking up a bit, regardless of the ‘wings’ issue.

“Well, here we are, the best warm drinks that centrists can make!”

Minarchist pointed towards what looked like a normal outdoor café. One service counter with a bright yellow canopy over the top of it. There was one tired-looking white glowing figure cleaning cups and placing them on a counter behind him. Outsider were several circular tables with umbrellas the same shade, which seemed odd considering it was autumn – they were the kind of umbrellas made to keep the sun off.

Now that ‘Ancap’ remembered, it would have been unusual for any business to remain open late into the evening like this in any of the left-wing areas he had visited. This area of the city felt busy even as night was approaching - cars racing down the streets beeping, streetlights burning the area like oversized fireflies. Even the LibRight leaning centrists were awake. He could only imagine how lively the actual LibRight areas would be.

“What you waiting for, Ancap? We should go and order.”

‘Ancap’ was caught in staring into space, taking in the thing, probably overthinking it; however, Minarchist’s calling pulled him back towards reality.

Everyone walked to the front desk. Minarchist holding Hoppean’s back, presumably so he didn’t fall over as soon as he hit anything physically material. ‘Ancap’ hovered behind them as Minarchist started to talk to the café owner.

“So uh, one black coffee…”

“Your blackest ever,” Hoppean interjected.

“Oh, a hot chocolate and uh.” Minarchist turned around, those heterochromatic eyes glared at ‘Ancap’. “What do you want?” 

“I mean, uh, having a hot chocolate too sounds great!” ‘Ancap’ nodded receptively. 

‘Ancap’ never thought that it would be today, of all days when carrying far too much money to school was actually useful, and James didn’t try and steal it.

“Awesome! So that’s two hot chocolates and uh, your blackest ever coffee.” 

After using almost all of the formerly assumed ‘too much money,’ the new LibRights sat down and started to sip their drinks as the stars were coming into view.

“I mean, it’s nowhere near as good as the actual cafes in Ancapistan, but for a place near the school it’s pretty good,” Minarchist said.

‘Ancap’ could Hoppean hear guzzling his coffee with a large number of obvious slurps. 

“Did you know? Most of them will put gold flakes in the whipped cream so long as you ask!” Minarchist continued, prompting ‘Ancap’ to react.

“Like, gold flakes, in the hot chocolate?”

“Heck yeah! Who knew metal had such a pleasant aftertaste?”

As ‘Ancap’ pulled the warm chocolatey liquid towards his lips, he did wonder what a golden whipped cream might taste like, and kind of hated himself for wanting to find that out.

“But it’s a lot more expensive, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but it’s totally worth it. It’s not like a majority of Ancapistan needs to worry about stuff like that those, and those that do, well they kinda deserve it. Centrist food is okay, but it can never be amazing, too few risks, too many regulations.”

_ Regulations? _

‘Ancap’ had never really thought about ‘regulations’ before. Now that he thought about it, he actually did prefer centrist food to the stuff they served in any of the Socialist regions. The food his parents made from home (often with the help of the community) was, to be frank, bland. He had always wanted something else, something more.

Not that he was a good cook himself exactly. He would have tried if the idea that he was incompetent chef wasn’t ingrained in his head. Though if he started to mix whatever the heck he wanted into the cooking pot, he would surely get laughed at. 

Maybe he was just unnecessarily picky, maybe he was always a bad Socialist, and that was just the first sign of it. 

‘Ancap’ sat there in silence, enjoying the very well prepared hot chocolate until Minarchist decided to ask him another question.

“You say you’ve never been to Ancapistan before?”

“No, no, I haven’t.” ‘Ancap’ sighed. “Not ever.”

“I guess I should start with some of the basics then, not golden flake coffees. I could show you some pictures I have on my phone actually. Well, me and Hoppean grew up there our whole lives. It’s normal to us but looking at the place still makes me kinda happy. I’m wondering if you’d feel anything too?”

“Me? Feel anything?”

Minarchist was looking at his phone screen, likely shuffling through images that he wanted to show to ‘Ancap’ though he wasn’t exactly looking him in the eye while doing it. Minarchist tried to juggle this while holding his hot chocolate and pouring it in his mouth. 

There was a ‘thump’ on the table as Minarchist gulped and threw their cup onto it. “Here are some!” Minarchist moved to quickly shove his phone in ‘Ancap’s face. “Mostly it’s just me and Hoppean, but I do have some landscape pictures too!”

‘Ancap’ reached forward and took the phone from Minarchist who showed a slight jolt as someone was touching his possessions. 

He at first looked at the phone without much attention. Scrolling through all the images of bright cityscapes, many of them featuring two cheerful centrist versions of Minarchist and Hoppean. Going shopping, boat trips and a bunch of other hobbies that ‘Ancap’ probably would have considered these ‘luxurious’ before but now…

He released how these two looked so free. 

He started to look through the phone with great attention.

He noticed how each of the exceedingly tall buildings, blue and gold and pattered with the lights of a thousand brands made the sky light up into an eternal daytime. Everyone in even the background of the photos looked to be dazzlingly unique with suits in various colours. Every area of the city was covered glass and concrete, windows which reflected more of the city within them. It was bustling. The more he focused, the more he could listen: he could hear the sounds, the chatter, the racing cars all inside his head.

‘Ancap’ realised that he wasn’t just looking with great attention but was entranced.

They were just pictures, but they were starting to feel real to him. He had never been here, why should he have such a connection to it? He felt his pulse quicken each time he swiped to view the next image. He wanted to imagine himself there and amongst everyone. He tried to project himself into the pictures, with little success. He tried and kept trying until Minarchist ripped the phone out of his hand.

“Say, are you done?” Minarchist said.

‘Ancap’s eyes moved back and forth as if they were avoiding Minarchist. He looked at Hoppean who was quiet again now all of his coffee had been drunk. His wings beating against the chair, Ancap couldn’t tell if he was doing it out of frustration or distress.

There was silence for a while before Ancap realised how late it was getting. Trains didn’t run to his hometown, potentially his old hometown, that late and it was a long journey. He sighed and placed his head on the table. The supposed serotonin release he had gotten from looking at his ‘Ideological Homeland’ was starting to fade.

Minarchist was taking a last greedy glance at his phone before shoving it into his school bag. “Something the matter?”

“I, uh really need to get back, I don’t think the trains run this long to where I come from.”

“You take the train? Then you must come from far away as you said. Where do you come from exactly? You never told me.”

“I, live in north-west… my family are socialists…” ‘Ancap’ said, almost inadvertently. 

Minarchist’s eyes widened. ‘Ancap’ scattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> James's chapter is next!   
> Be prepared for even more self-doubt.


	4. Error Messages

James had entered the principal, Realist’s office with what he had characterised as a sense of calm. 

He wanted the dreary room around him, the bleak white walls with only a symbol of the political compass with one single chair, to match the composure of his mind. He wanted to do everything to remain sane and not get overwhelmed. 

His mind had framed this as ‘ _Well sometimes ‘The Navigator makes a mistake’_ and _‘This will be an easy fix.’_ He would continuously breathe in and out, counting to ten to prevent him from kicking the living shit out of anyone he had locked eyes with.

His stupid optimism had led him to give way to blind rage. 

And yet, Realistic Realist had just sat there with the bleakest of face, expressionless eyes behind his glasses. Not budging on his decision.

“No, there has clearly been a mistake! You have to let me retake the test, you must!”

Realistic Realist shook his head. “‘The Navigator’ makes no mistake. There is no way to reverse its decisions.”

James grunted and pushed some of the papers off of Realist’s desk and onto the floor. It was just enough for Realist to take a peek out of his glasses and throw James a questioning look.

“How long do you plan on standing there and telling me the same thing over and over again? I cannot change anything. No matter how much you shout at me. Now get out of my office and go home.” It had been the sternest look that Realist had given him that night.

No amount of sternness was going to quell James’s rage. The more apathy that James could see in Realist’s eyes, hear in his voice, the more his anger grew. 

Understandable, since he was an extremist now. 

Not that he wanted to be.

Not that he _should_ have been.

He was still stuck repeating the same phrase inside of his head no matter how much the image of pounding Realist’s ugly head against the table also flooded his mind: _‘This was a mistake. ‘The Navigator’ made a mistake.’_

He could have accepted being a Right-Wing Populist, maybe even a regular Fascist. 

_But not that, anything but that._

Even after leaving what felt like two-week long mind-trip inside the ‘The Navigator’ itself. Such a dark place, what a place to be alone.

He remembered that there was only him and that voice without a body - no other people. Occasionally the image of an empty and destroyed street. His emotions fluctuating between a sense of glee in that the former denizens of the town had deserved their destruction and feeling like he was absolute shit because the invisible voice in the sky was criticising every single one of his doubts.

It was a fluctuation of feeling amazingly powerful and horrifyingly weak.

Now he wasn’t sure what to feel, maybe except for angry.

Either way, regardless of how long he spent in the dark, he wasn’t going to go around and call himself _that._ He wasn’t going to be _that._ Even if everybody could tell by looking at his glow, his face.

“I’m not going home. I’m not going home until you do something. You. Do. Something!” 

James thumped his fist on the table to prevent himself from kicking it over. 

“Look. Nazi, it’s 8:30PM my shift ends at 9, I am going home in thirty minutes, and I am taking all of my paperwork with me. As you might be able to tell, you have strewn it everywhere and thus, it’s going to take me even longer to pack it all away.”

“Does that look like my fucking problem?”

Realist lifted up his glasses again before pushing up the bridge with his middle finger. “Leave, or I’ll get the Orwellian to kick you out.”

_The Orwellian?_

James had always known that these two ‘Orwellian’ and ‘Inversive’ patrolled the school. He had always assumed they were security guards, but normally powerful realists like that were called in for things worse than being a hall monitor. Either way, a so-called ‘threatening’ encounter wasn’t going to get in the way of James changing his fate.

“Then get him too!” James yelled.

Realist groaned and got out of his chair. He grabbed James’s shoulder and started to push him out of the room. 

“Get off me… you…”

Before James even noticed, he was outside of the principal’s office.

James huffed before turning behind him to leave one last large kick against the door.

As his leg hit the wood, he wrenched backwards, his foot twisting. “Fuck. Fuck!”

He pushed against the door again to prevent himself from falling over. His leg seemed to bounce against the white door and as a result – not expecting the rebound, he found himself falling to the ground and onto the rubbery tiled floor. 

This was it: the school, the centre of the school, the place of normality and the mundane. The centrists, whoever they were deemed would get to return here tomorrow as if nothing had happened to them. Socialising with the same people. No judgement from their friends, from their homes. 

But James did notice how the place seemed to lose its normalcy at night. There were no students going about their business, throwing stuff in their lockers, running to lessons or conversating about whatever idle bullcrap was on their minds. The lighting was normally piercing. The entire room lit by those round LED lights pressed at the top of the wall along with the rows of windows reflecting an obnoxious amount of sunlight. The few colours were now muted in the shadows. In the daytime the bright green of the lockers, the red of the banners, sky blue of the floor and sunny yellow of the walls all contrasted against each other, colours so clashing but it really made the area feel alive.

Everything was dulled in the quiet. The entire area was a grey-ish blob. The silence was by far the worse thing. The only noise accompanying James was the buzzing of those said energy-inefficient LED lights, even though they were off. Not even the heating was on, making the tiled floor that James fell on even colder.

Looking at this place, so empty, so void, it dawned on him that he would likely never see it again. He wouldn’t be permitted to come here. Extremists didn’t get to mingle with the centrists. They were taught in the far corners of the school because they didn’t need to learn anything that the centrists did to be ‘good extremists’. Centrists didn’t want to talk to extremists, they hated extremists - especially extremists like him.

Instead of getting up and moving on, James sat down in front of the door and just stared, taking a look at what should have been his future. He found himself breathing heavily as he forced back trying to cry.

_No, you can’t cry._

_Only weak people cry._

_You’d be so stupid to cry over this. School? Who cries over school?_

Despite the internal resistance, James couldn’t help it and burst into tears. 

At least nobody could see him whilst he was crying, or so he thought. 

James felt lucky that he was a kind of… emotionally repressed person. So even when he had thought that he was alone, he had busily wiped away every tear that dares clog up his eyes with his jacket. 

Whoever was crying hadn’t heard him cry, had they?

He could wipe away his tears quickly, but that wouldn’t have stopped his awful whining sound and gross snuffling. 

Either way, he tried to immediately stop crying. Having someone see you cry sounded like a fate worse than death to James. Of course, now he knew there were far worse fates than having someone see you cry, but it still sounded pretty bad.

He was initially alerted to the sound of footsteps, then a dark magenta figure appeared at the end of the hallway. There was no sound other than the weight of their boots. They said nothing, but he was clearly approaching James with no other intent on his mind. Was it someone he recognised?

It was far too dark to tell. From this distance, it was likely that neither of them could see each other’s facial features. There was also no glow coming off of either of the Ideologies – an unhappy Ideology possessed a dulled and diluted colour. Maybe it was someone else in a position just like James was? Obviously not as bad, James thought his situation was the worst ever but still.

Maybe if their emotional stability was low, teasing them would make James feel better.

With the temptation of getting his pain out on someone, James pushed himself off the floor and brushed the dirt off of his clothes. 

As soon as he rose to stand, his foot was stood on by said figure. 

“Well, well, looks like the mighty have fallen.” The entity then proceeded to laugh, a high-pitched voice, a kind that was hard to tell if it was male or female.

The figure came in line with James’s eyes as he crouched. Despite the darkness and fading glow of their bodies, he could tell by the pink light in their eyes… another member from what was supposedly ‘his’ quadrant. 

_Homonationalist?_

_Homofascist?_

He had never seen one of those before. 

Then again, he had never lived in the far northeast.

_What a fucking weird Ideology. Whoever thinks up ‘homonationalism’ anyway?_

_Degenerate is what it was._

_How did my people ever allow –_

_No, no, don’t think like that, James. You don’t belong there._

Whatever this… paradoxical AuthRight Ideology was, he was mocking him and had come with a clear intent to mock him. 

And James wouldn’t stand for that.

He tried to push the other Ideology off of his foot with extreme prejudice. “I have not fallen. Get away from me.”

Even as James pushed the other Ideology, he held his ground and James’s foot…

“You really think so? Look at you? The moment you step outside, everyone is gonna hate you. You’re literally a moving target.”

“No! And if I am, then, I’ll just fight back! Now get off me scum!”

“You’ll have a lot of nerve to fight against a world that despises you. Even some anti-realists are less scorned than you, how do you feel about that? The extra funny part is that you’re gonna deserve it.”

The Ideology tore away from James’s foot before giving it one last stamp-like he wanted to break one of James’s toes. “You can’t even fight against me; what hope is there for you?”

James stepped back and stuttered before looking back into the Homonationalist’s eyes with determination. “Hope for me? Well, ‘the Navigator’ made a mistake, okay!”

“A mistake?” Homonationalist suddenly looked a lot less threatening, folding his arms and relaxing his gaze. “You know that’s nonsense, right?”

“It’s not nonsense! I’m not supposed to be like this!”

“Uh, well I’m not exactly sure about that.” James saw him smile. “That test, it knows things that not even you know. It certainly told me that, I suppose there are things in our minds that not even we’re aware of?”

“Then what the fuck was it that I wasn’t aware of that I had to… end up like this?” 

“Biases you aren’t aware of, probably. Whose to say there wasn’t an intent when you kept stealing the kid with ADHD’s money.”

James just stared and bared his teeth.

“What? You don’t think you had a bias?” Homonationalist said, putting his hands on his hips. “Who knew someone could come out of such a transformative experience in such denial?”

“It’s not denial!”

“I’m sorry.” Homonationalist scoffed. “Then what else could it be?” 

Homonationalist stepped forward again, but this time instead of pouncing on James’s foot, he patted him on the shoulder. “Hmph, say, you’ve already developed the passive-aggressive nature that your kind possess, mistake or not you’re growing into it.”

“My Kind?!” The sadness in James was gone, the rage came back.

“Not fun, is it? It might be different on Earth where people of all ideas hide amongst each other, but down here you’re gonna be treated the same way you treat everyone else.”

_But the difference is the other people deserve it!_

_No, no, I can’t allow myself to agree with that!_

_Then I would just be…_

Instead of trying to fight Homonationalist again, he decided not to – least he prove that he was fighting for… what he had turned into.

“I get it, but I’m not that! It’s just that…”

“Just what?” 

“I spoke to the principal, he can’t let me retake ‘The Navigator’ no matter how many times I’ve begged, so, I need to find a way to take it again on my own. Just watch me, I’ll stop being like this as soon as I can contact ‘The Navigator’ again.”

Homonationalist crushed James’s shoulder before stepping away, and what a smirk he had on his face. Could James see that he was wearing, lipstick? No, it was too dark, he must have been seeing things. He refused to accept the idea that a guy could wear lipstick. “You say that as if you have a plan.”

“I’ll come up with a plan! I’ll get to the navigator, you’ll see!”

“My my my, what a vendetta. I’d be interested in your pursuit _Nazi._ ”

James stopped himself from pummelling the pink Ideology’s face into the ground.

“Why the fuck are you here, are you here at night, anyway? I explained myself, now you explain yourself.”

James tried to regain some composure, folding his arms and looking Homonationalist in the eye, trying not to remind himself how much taller he was compared to him.

“Well, I didn’t go home because I know my parents are gonna reject me.” Homonationalist dropped the smirk.

“So, you’d rather just lurk the empty school corridors than at least try and negotiate with them!”

“Hmph, well. It’s the school’s duty to house lost Ideologies. Especially these centrist schools, they can’t really turn anyone down. I thought that’s why you were here too? You were waiting for the staff to return by morning.”

“No! Of course, my family still care about me… ugh, wait, are you saying that there are Ideologies living at the school?”

Homonationalist flipped his hand up. “Pfft. There always had been. I guess you never paid attention to them because you always thought you were going to be so centre-rightist and it’s not like someone like you would ever notice someone in need anyway. No wonder you ignored the whole thing.”

“So, wait, where are these ‘living quarters’ supposed to be?” James asked. 

Homonationalist pointed upwards. “I think they sit directly above ‘The Navigator’ testing, ironically.”

“Are they even any good? How do they know they won’t keep you in a prison?”

“They can’t legally do that, not in this city, Nazi. There are beds, heating and the Soc Dems are there to give us food. We’re essentially homeless, what can they do?”

“You’re waiting here, and you haven’t even tried to return home? Have you already given up?”

“Oh, honey.” Homonationalist bent over to meet James’s eye line. “You don’t want to see my’ home’.”

Just as James noticed a bead of sweat pouring down his face, Homonationalist turned away from him. 

“Say, if you really do have a family to get back to, Why don’t you get back to them, I’m sure they’ll get it, you’re little misunderstanding. Just explain how they got it wrong,” said Homonationalist.

James pointed at Homonationalist. “You know what, you’re right, and I’m going, right now!” 

He scampered in the opposite direction to Homonationalist, hoping that he would never see him again, but his self-doubt knew that this was not the case. 

-

James’s house wasn’t far from the school. Around five minutes there and back. It was pitch black outside – James was almost surprised that they hadn’t locked up the school already. Then again, he remembered that Realist was still in there, messing around with paper.

Despite the darkness, and the fact that nobody was wandering around town this late, James felt vulnerable. His feelings of weakness had never really been something that he noticed. Even when those kids he messed with made snide remarks at him or insulted him. He liked to pretend it didn’t hurt. He would even tell himself: _‘Ha! They’re so pissed off that they’re lying to me!’_

_Lying perhaps they weren’t?_

Now, James’s weakness had made itself noticeable, so noticeable that it was staring him in the face with the dozens of eyes he didn’t acknowledge.

He would have liked to believe he was powerful. Like all people, or maybe like all people who were like him? Sure, there might have been others who were _cursed_ like he was that were powerful enough to fight off the masses with their strength but not any ‘young’ Ideologies. 

He wasn’t going to fool himself into thinking that he was strong enough to fight them back. 

He wasn’t that delusional; he wouldn’t allow himself to be.

He’d have to change this. 

The streetlights which peppered the pavement sides kept shining a light on his barely glowing body. It was noticeable who he looked like, and how ‘far’ to the right that he looked. It was largely centrists that lived here, yes, but they were centrists of the same quadrant, most of them could easily recognise what he was supposed to be without effort. 

James wished he had some kind of dark cloak. 

Just, something, anything that would let him blend into the shadows.

_Maybe I should have waited at the school?_

All the rows of shops were shut, and borderline neoliberals didn’t really have much of a reason to leave the house if there weren’t any businesses to run (especially the conservative ones). 

James’s area had always seemed very busy. It was something that James fondly regarded. He had admired their ability to work hard and push out all other emotion to achieve for the greater society, for all the centrists. It would have been easier for him to understand the work he had to do if ‘The Navigator’ had at least made him the way he should have been. 

The world was better when everyone was doing their bit for the cause.

_What did they do in most north-easterly part of the quadrant?_

James only understood the horror stories.

James didn’t want to know.

Past the ‘business’ area of the centre-right district, it became a lot more ‘cushy’ probably what James would have considered a great example of homely suburban life. 

Houses of two floors, white walls and brown rooves. Several windows and a wooden door on each of them. Picket fences around the small gardens that each of them had. In the daytime, young Ideologies would ride by on their bikes, and the occasional beeping horn would be heard as people rushed down the smoothly paved roads.

Neighbours were polite to one another, but James would often wonder if they really knew who he was or remembered when he would go and see them for parties or other community events. 

Fighting back his fears, James smiled to himself. If he did manage to fight against this ‘misclassification’ willed on him, he’d become somewhat of a name in the community, he’ll matter, everyone would recognise the guy who was ‘ _nearly damned to be a Nazi but came out of it as they knew their true values!’_

James was getting closer and closer to home. As he realised he was just a few houses away from his doorstep, he realised that he hadn’t even thought of an explanation to give to his parents. He had only been thinking of how not to be seen. 

He wasn’t sure if he needed to come up with honestly. They should have trusted him, their son, to be a reasonable and normal person – not the sort that would end up as an extremist. 

_Yeah, they are going to know immediately that this is a mistake. They know me._

_They’re going to be worried. And then they are going to fight for me._

_Us against the system, us against them._

Pushing all the doubts out of his mind – Joseph proudly knocked on the door. He stood to attention and waited.

In a moment he saw the curtains flicker. 

The door creaked open.

He saw the pale-blue face of his mother, a contrast against the warm glowing light of his home. The look in her face was stern, sterner than Realist’s gaze when he had judged him for his anger.

Just as James was about to open his mouth, the door slammed shut.

He wasn’t even given time to speak.

James stepped away, and when it was clear, he wasn’t going to be noticed, slumped down, down until he was sitting on the ground and partly tanged within the leaves of a bush.

James pulled out his phone and impulsively web searched: **‘What to do when your family abandons you because they hate your Ideology’.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> James has a long way to go before he works out why he's like this! As for Orwellian and Inverse, we'll learn their roles a lot later. 
> 
> Next chapter features Ancom again, as qui learns what 'Leftist Unity' actually means and its presence in the World of Ideas.


	5. Their Own Machines

The bicycle whirled as Ancom moved it into the communal bike shed. Pulling it into the rows, there was no need for locking it unlike qui always had to near the school grounds.

A bright green thing with some of the best stickers qui could get (qui admitted that it was hard to turn down a nice pride flag – especially the nonbinary one), Ancom really enjoyed the freedom (and the low carbon emissions) that cycling gave to quem. Sure, it took qui ages to ride home, but the feeling was worth it. It wasn’t as if the LibLeft areas were a dangerous place anyway, in fact, it seemed to get safer the further south-west qui went. 

Safer, and warmer too. 

Sure, that made solar-powered buses and trains very viable and most of them look trips around the entire quadrant, but Ancom much preferred cycling. There were a lot of other cyclists in Ancom’s commune too, it was something that they could bond over.

Ancom was close to everyone in cuius commune. They were one big family, really. Although it was always easy to tell who Ancom’s parents actually were, the only other two Ancoms in the commune. Qui looked a lot like them too, qui was still unsure how quem felt about that. 

The rest of the commune was made up of other Anarchists: Existential Anarchist, Insurrectionary Anarchist and two Post-Left Anarchists to be specific, there was also an Ideology there who was a year or two younger than Ancom, so they were yet to receive their colour.

The other Ideology, who was still known to Ancom as ‘Sky’ went to a ‘school’ that was run solely by other anarchists in the community. All of the ‘teachers’ and students (as vague as the distinction between them were) were anarchists or the children of anarchists or the children of other Ideologies that happened to end up in the far corners of the LibLeft quadrant. 

These were colloquially known as ‘mono-Ideology’ schools. They existed in all of the areas across the World of Ideas but were most common in Extremist ones. They were contrasted with kind of school that Ancom went to, those massive schools that existed almost exclusively in the centrist districts. Those that would pull in those who lived in every area across the political compass and forced them to interact.

They were quite a recent invention, from what Ancom knew. Some guy who had called himself ‘the Anti-Centrist’ had thought them up some ten years back. Ancom had been made to take a class on him at one point. Not much of a class though, little information on ‘the Anti-Centrist’ existed. Nobody even knew if he was still walking The World of Ideas alive, or even as an Ideology. What there was information on, was a collection of evidence that he was a human at some point, Ancom didn’t know anything at all about humans, so to quem it wasn’t something worth investigating. Humans seemed so unreachable anyway, so qui didn’t believe it. 

‘The Navigator’ as… smooth-lined as it was in Centrist schools also tended to be a big draw whatever Ideology you were. Most mono-Ideology schools had far less support and couldn’t find their own way to emulate ‘The Navigator’ and most had resorted to trying to remake the test on paper. It mostly succeeded, but that was only because drastic changes in one’s ideas were so rare in those places. 

There were pros and cons to Ancom’s schooling experience, albeit a limited amount of pros at that.

The pros were: getting to meet Joseph and keeping cuius belief system consistent despite all the outside forces working against quem.

The cons were: blind ‘school-based’ obedience, obnoxious teachers, meeting so many racists, having cuius anger skyrocket day by day, dealing with James, meeting ‘Commie’. 

Why did qui think that meeting ‘Commie’ was a con for…

No matter, qui needed to get home.

Ancom knocked on the door, and it was immediately open by cuius mom.

“You’re an Ancom?!”

“I’m an Ancom!”

The two of them cheered before Ancom quemself ran inside.

Ancom rushed speedily down the wooden stairwell, which lead to the main living area of the commune. Some would have called it chaotic, but Ancom liked to call it cosy.

There was only one floor, one underground floor where the anarchists needed to have everything that would keep their little family afloat. In the initial ‘sitting room’ had several sofas in various corners of the room, and then bean bags randomly were strewn about too. Two of the sofas had covers that were knitted by one of the post-left anarchists that lived here, one of them in rainbow and one of them in a pinkish colour. They had also knitted the carpet in the centre of the floor. Most of the stuff here was made either by the people living here or from other groups or communes in the area.

There was also a garden they all shared that was a short walk from here. Though they didn’t exchange very much at all with any of the other quadrants, or even any of the relatively close other LibLefts. The anarchists mostly liked to keep to themselves. 

Despite this sense of closeness or distance, it wasn’t as if they didn’t have electricity. The commune still had access to the internet, computers, and gaming consoles, in fact, the anarchists had one of those in their main living area. Especially since qui went to a large Centrist school, it was easy for quem to see that trying gain goods from ‘the outside’ world was tempting, but Ancom knew that qui didn’t want to risk getting a hold of something where people had been needlessly exploited in order for it to be made. Nice things were indeed nice, but capitalist exploitation was one of the things that could just make anything nasty, no matter how nice it was.

That’s not to say that these people couldn’t visit if they wanted to, but why would someone who clearly wasn’t an anarchist try and come to live here? Especially in a world where everyone could immediately tell. 

Speaking of making things, when Ancom walked in qui could smell some of the vegetable soup boiling – oh how it made cuius vegan heart sing!

Despite being very hungry, the longer Ancom smelt the soup, the more he remembered what Joseph – Commie, had said about quem vegan lifestyle. 

Whenever Ancom would bring up animal rights and respect to him, he would tut and just tell cuius:  _ ‘But you must eat everything given to you, the workers have enough struggles and do not always have time for the animals’. _ It wasn’t all that hateful of a stance, but it still made Ancom kinda upset when qui heard it.

It was all coming together now, everything had been so obvious, how did qui miss that?

Ancom felt a tinge of sadness hit quem again.

_ No, I have to remember that we could have ‘Leftist Unity’ I have to. We can still be friends. No problem.  _

“You know, Existential Anarchist is in the kitchen, it’s like they knew you were going to come back.”

Ancom nodded at cuius mom. “I know, I know.”

Qui went to sit on the sofa, contemplating whether or not to wrap quemself in the knitted blanket. Qui pulled it down from the back of the sofa just in case feeling the soft thread work beneath cuius fingers. 

Ancom’s mom came and sat next to quem, Existential Anarchist came in with the soup, it was bubbling, Ancom could see it bubbling from here, the smell of the carrot, lettuce, so strong that qui could almost taste it from where qui was sitting. 

With a perfectly straight face, Existential Anarchist passed the bowls to the two Ancoms with a spoon for each of them too. As Ancom quemself looked down at cuius meal, qui pondered whether qui wanted to eat or just sit there and feel sorry for quemselves.

“Is something the matter? Don’t you like some good soup after all that cycling?” cuius mom asked.

“It does, but it’s not that…”

“Not that?”

Wanting to look away, Ancom lifted the spoon and pushed some of the bubbling soup into cuius mouth. Even when qui was feeling so bitter, the smooth, warm and juicy soup made quem feel a little sweeter. 

Qui just didn’t have to think about…  _ Commie. _

Existential Anarchist came back into the room, and, despite having that same neutral expression on their face, sat next to Ancom as well in an attempt to show their concern. 

Ancom was now boxed in, comfily boxed in by loved ones, but still boxed in.

“Hey, Ancom, isn’t the day you are supposed to get your colour meant to be a good day? You seemed excited when you left earlier.” Existential Anarchist’s narrow eyes gazed over to Ancom.

“I know, I know. Commie, told me that too…” Ancom tried cuius best to whisper.

“I’m sorry, who is Commie?” Existential Anarchist asked.

Ancom noticed how concerningly his mother was looking at quem. Her eyebrows raised at cuius. 

“It doesn’t matter,” said Ancom, who was taking another sip of cuius soup. 

“You know, I don’t think that I know a ‘Commie’ they haven’t been passing through here in years.” Existential Anarchist folded their arms, eyes pointing towards the ceiling.

“Well, why would they? They should know they aren’t welcome anymore,” Ancom’s mom said to Existential Anarchist.

“Heh, guess that’s why I never saw any AuthLefts then.” 

_ Don’t think about it now, it doesn’t matter. _

Ancom started sipping cuius soup faster and faster, hardly enough time to savour the meal – making Ancom feel guilty considering cuius fellow Anarchists had spent time and resources making such a wonderful thing for cuius out of kindness. Cuius meal deserved some more respect.

Even as Ancom gobbled up the soup, cuius quick eating didn’t sate Ancom’s restlessness. Eventually, as the pool of liquid vegetable shrunk further, questions were passing through Ancom’s mind at lightning speed.

_ Wait the AuthLefts were banned here? _

_ What good was it, banning them? _

_ Did I really start to dislike Commie the moment I saw them as Commie? _

_ What even was Leftist Unity? _

“What even is Leftist Unity?” Ancom asked, cuius filter between cuius thoughts and speech dropping.

“Leftist Unity?” Ancom’s mom questioned.

“Leftist Unity, huh? Now that’s something I remember vaguely remember from history class.” Existential Anarchist scoffed.

“History class? You learnt about that? All I know is rumours? They’d always tell it to me when…”

“Tell it to you where?” asked Ancom’s mom.

“When I would go and see Commie – Joseph, I mean Joseph. The people of his northernly town would whisper about it, and even when he came here sometimes. I never knew what it meant, but it always sounded so positive. Are you telling me it’s not?”

Ancom’s mom put her arm around Ancom. Existential Anarchist stood up and took the bowl of nearly consumed soup from under Ancom. “Well, time for me to go and do the washing up.” 

Ancom’s mom gestured a wave to Existential Anarchist as they left to the kitchen, before returning her attention to Ancom quemselves. “Leftist Unity, it feels almost ancient now.”

_ Ancient?  _ Considering how long some Ideologies could live for – something being ‘ancient’ could mean that such a thing could go back years on levels that Ancom couldn’t comprehend. Generations before qui came into existence.

“Ancient, well it goes a long time back, far back.” Ancom’s mom continued. “We had a kind of alliance, but I’d call it a ‘pact’ considering how intrusive it was to us.” 

“A pact? Why would an anarchist sign a pact?”

“These were, uh, different times, though now the regret is clear for most of us.”

“H-how different were those times?” Ancom blinked.

“The World of Ideas wasn’t always this well-defined. Fighting for a place to belong was a real issue. The battles fought were more vicious, they were for domination rather than just ‘praxis’”. 

“And you were there to see it?”

“Well, I did see…” Ancom’s mom gulped. “… I did see some of it.”

Ancom watched cuius mom nervously, qui couldn’t imagine living in a place where qui had to fight for a space form quemselves, Ancom had assumed that was just a given, or, at least, that’s what the centrists had tried to teach quem. They seemed to care a lot about this ‘unity’ that they had claimed to have created, however, there was very little mention of what the outsiders aka extremists life was like before. 

Of course, the centrists, even though they called themselves ‘the unifiers’ extremists weren’t even allowed into their turf this often until recently, which was kind of suspicious. Whatever this ‘anti-centrist’ guy did, it must have been drastic enough so that extremists like Ancom weren’t as hatred as they were all those years back – baring one obvious and deserved exception. 

Ancom had always thought that the claim the centrists had of ‘unifying the quadrants’ was fishy, but this was the first time that qui had heard it from the other perspective before. 

Qui was ready for it.

“Back then, the Leftists, that is, both the Auth and Lib left, were preparing a revolution together, both of the ‘right’ having most of the power and economic advantage. If we were to win over them and destroy the hierarchies they had put in place, then we had to make an alliance: a pact which became known as ‘Leftist Unity’”

“Well, h-how did it fail?” 

“It didn’t seem like it was going to at first, we were a lot stronger together than we were as just two separate groups. We had some things in common, we would share our theory and share our natures. We would, fair, eat the rich together!”

After hearing that, Ancom wondered what ‘the rich’ actually tasted like, maybe even literally. 

_ It was hard to see the capitalists as living, breathing Ideologies sometimes, at least quem and Commie could bond over that idea. _

Ancom found quemselves smiling again. “That does sound like a great thing.”

“I hate to say it, but I do miss those times myself. Sure, it was chaos, but we found unity…” Ancom’s mom groaned. “Look at me, I nearly mentioned it again.”

“Say, mom, did you have a Communist friend in the revolution? Not like, an Anarcho-Communist, like a Communist, an Authoritarian Communist?”

Ancom’s mom etched away from Ancom. “Wait, you could tell?” She released her arm from around Ancom quemself.

“Huh, I could tell?” Ancom was deeply confused. 

“Why do you think we called it ‘Leftist Unity’?” 

“It was really about friendship?” Ancom asked. 

“I mean, for some of us, it was. It grew past a simple alliance, we were growing all too close in ways that the right-wing Ideologies weren’t. We felt as if we were fading, fading into one quadrant. And that we actually, kinda liked it…”

Ancom moved to the other side of the sofa. There was now a reasonable distance between quem and cuius mom. Ancom contemplated taking the knitted blanket off the back of the sofa again.

“You’d really think  _ we,  _ anarchists would allow ourselves to merge with the authority? Merge like that!”

Normally, Ancom would have been angered by a comment like that, if anybody were to suggest that qui would support any authoritarian. Any person who would uphold the state. Sometimes even the mere suggestion of basic statism would send Ancom into an angry ramble. 

_ Was it because it was a dear member of cuius commune was telling quem this or because something today really had changed quem in a way that qui had not realized? _

If qui was 100% Ancom, like qui was told and how qui looked. Then why would qui be so comfortable with the idea of being that close… with an actual statist? 

“It, well, it went to show how strong the bond between Ideologies could be against their enemies. In fact, I can say without bias that we nearly won and that our revolution was about to take perfect shape until that power died, our friendship died too, there was no final revolution due to their betrayal.”

Before today, Ancom would have dismissed this as  _ ‘typical commies’,  _ but the more qui thought about it, the more that qui didn’t want to believe it.

Joseph became a Communist, and qui desperately wanted to believe that he was a ‘good’ Communist. But even just laying eyes on who Joseph became had worried Ancom, Leftist Unity, this one imaginary idea that qui had been holding onto, had it really led to a betrayal?

“So the communists, did they betray you… mom? Did they betray us all? Can they even be trusted!” Ancom bit cuius tongue to stop quemselves from yelling out.

“It was as if the AuthLeft had started acting like a hivemind, more so than the average usual statist might. Even the nicest seeming Communists had suddenly decided to turn on us. They turned our guns on us – the guns they had previously used for slaughtering the kulaks. Now, all Ideologies are hardy, but they can still be rightfully viscous when they attack with the full intent to kill. The worst part was that they had attempted to deceive us, they had fed us so many lies and propaganda created by their own machines – and we believed them.”

“Why would they do that? We could have spread leftism, justice, to everyone, everywhere, why would they give up on that?”

“Because they wanted domination. Even… even…” Ancom’s mom paused, Ancom heard the tiredness in her voice. “Even my own best friend had decided to choose domination over me. There was nothing personal in what the Communists had called ‘Leftist Unity’”

“But, you’re still alive, and uh, I exist, wait, what happened to your Communist… friend, former friend?” 

Ancom was now leaning back on the sofa, the blanket had been too tempting, qui had to pull it down and wrap it around quemselves. Sometimes, not even the deep warmth of the libertarian quadrants could keep out the cold, or the shivering.

Finding it harder and harder to speak, Ancom’s mom continued. “I am still alive. Which, now that I think about it, astonishes me, almost as much as this system the ‘World of Ideas’ built for itself. However, he is not, but he did not meet his end because of me. Nobody in this commune is the vengeful type. We never got to see each other again after he decided to spare my life.”

Ancom sniffed. “Did you want to see him again?”

“We had to have some trust left. There was ever so much of it before…”

Ancom covered cuius head with the knitted blanket. “So this is how most people remember Leftist Unity, it’s a word of warning… not a sign of left-wing friendships…”

“It’s almost a dirty word, a sign of mistrust because well, most of us believe that it could never come to pass again. We are separate quadrants, incredibly different worldviews and that’s how it should be! Even if such a friendship could be possible… it’s dangerous!”

Ancom bundled up the gentle fabric. The idea of merging with the authoritarians, giving quem an obvious feeling of dread – but the idea of merging completely with the blanket seemed a lot less so. 

“Say, mom, do you remember my friend, Joseph. Who, I thought, well, that we seemed so much alike?”

“Joseph?”

“Well, he’s a Communist now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My design for the World of Ideas isn't based on accuracy, more like stereotyping, makes for a more centricde-feeling setting and also just seems more flexible for a fantasy/high school au!
> 
> 'Ancap' returns in the next chapter! He will find himself addressing his town and his past.


	6. A Cure for Dreams

‘Ancap’ had nearly fallen asleep twice before he had heard the train click into the station.

His head was still on the table, hard and smelling of cheap cleaning fluid but ‘Ancap’ hadn’t dreamt in what felt like ages. He was desperate for a peaceful sleep. Desperate to the point that he had started to seek it on the train built by centrists.

The train he had taken had been the last one to leave the station. He wasn’t a fast runner or really had any athletic prowess at all and even getting on the train had cost him energy which he didn’t have in the first place. 

Then again, despite having just come back from an unending nightmare, the visions of Ancapistan, a possible future there, had given him energy. 

_Energy from where though?_

It had since faded as soon as he had fled from Minarchist and pushed himself onto the busy final train of the day. 

The train had once been crammed full of people was now near empty, there might have been some people left, but they were nowhere near ‘Ancap’ that was for sure. Good, they would probably look at him and wonder why any LibRight would on a train going to a small Socialist town.

He half expected to be asked a bunch of questions by either curious or judgemental observers. Maybe they had tried to do that in any of the times he had nearly blacked out due to his tiredness. 

Everything that his possible future would hold was now dawning on him. There was still a chance that his parents would reject him and he would be left on his own – still mostly clueless about what his Ideology actually meant. But then he thought about the alternative, the idea that his parents would accept him. 

Sure, ‘Ancap’ wanted acceptance from the people he had lived with his whole life and have helped take care of him for all that time as well. Yet, if that was the case, then ‘Ancap’ would still have to live in this Socialist town until he graduated as he was now. Even though it was the place that he lived in his whole life, he wouldn’t fit there anymore. An Ancap in a town full of Socialists, he wouldn’t be welcome anymore. 

Everyone would be gossiping about the ‘monster’ that showed up to town, if not worse, people actually trying to hurt him. 

Living in such a secluded place, ‘Ancap’ would barely see any other Ideology enter. He didn’t remember any non-red coloured Ideologies visiting or even when he was wandering about the town. What even would the reaction be if a yellow Ideology was to show up there? 

_Had there been other Ideologies show up before?_

_Were they all dead? Is that why I had never seen them?_

_Did they kill them all?_

_I need to run, don’t I?_

_I need to run._

‘Bing-Bong-Bong-Bing’.

THE TRAIN HAS REACHED ITS FINAL STATION. PLEASE DEPART AND TAKE ALL YOUR BELONGINGS WITH YOU. 

THIS WAS THE FINAL WEST-BOUND TRAIN OF THIS EVENING.

There was another loud click, and the doors swung open, the cold air which seemed eternally present in ‘Ancap’s’ town, night or day, winter or summer. It was likely there for some kind of symbolic reason, but he had never worked out why. 

He moved his head upwards and forced himself to emerge from his panicked daydreams, walking towards the train doors - the perfectly transparent edges of the doorways reflecting the mixture between the cool icy colours of the ground and sky and deep browns of the houses. 

The centrist’s transport system was somewhat reliable at best, but the design and technology that went into them was admirable. They were fast, clean, and many of its features were fully automated. Deep down, ‘Ancap’ had always felt that he shouldn’t have been admiring them, that admiring something that was supposed to be so Ideologically distant from him was a sign of him misunderstanding how the world worked on a fundamental level.

Then again, an Ancap shouldn’t be admiring centrists handiwork either, now he was supposed to be even further from the centre. 

_What if the trains in Ancapistan are even nicer than these ones?_

That was something he could look forward to if he were to ever end up living there. 

He almost didn’t want to leave the train. It was warm in there. He had nearly fallen asleep on there, and he wasn’t going to sleep tonight regardless if he was going to fall asleep in own house or on the ground, outdoors, he had to also focus on survival. 

Even for a place, he had been living his whole life, the exact navigation of everything inside his town still sometimes confused him. The landscapes, the rivers, the environment, yes. He would even say that it meant something to him, the ground red with brick, the houses bronze with wood, bridges over the cool icy depths of the flowing water. You could hear them, slowly running, even from a distance. When you got off the train, you could see a red flag in the distance, flying, it was perfectly framed by the houses which sat in rows. 

It still felt comfortable to ‘Ancap’, but now, something also felt… wrong.

He couldn’t tell what was off, the town itself hadn’t changed, and it still felt like _home_ even though he didn’t want to tell that to himself. But it felt a lot duller, like the life inside of it from those living there was draining away. 

‘Ancap’ sensed that at the back of his mind, it was because he had been able to look upon the place where he actually belonged. It had tainted his mind, and now no other place would do. 

Looking ahead at the sleepy town, he knew that he didn’t belong here. That he shouldn’t be here, regardless of the ‘history’ that he personally had with the place. Getting your colour changed more than how an Ideology looked – it altered their entire form. 

He still remembered the final moments he had spent in ‘The Navigator’. The last hours which made him feel as if he was being ripped to shreds and replaced…

_Replaced or recreated?_

No – he can’t dwell on that. 

He paced across the walkway, noticing how it was far more icy than usual. He occasionally found himself slipping on the ground. The lack of lighting was of no help either. The illumination they chose wasn’t exactly bright, it was orangey rather than yellow, it made the glow friendlier and saved on energy too. Though they weren’t exactly good for seeing everything around you at night. 

The further ‘Ancap’ wandered, the more he found himself nearly falling on the road until he finally did.

He didn’t grab one of the few, scattered lampposts in time and found himself hurtling forward, face hitting the floor. Some of the light ice touching his nose and making him sneeze. His fists gripped the pavement as he wrestled to get up off the ground. He would let out a small whimpering ‘ _oww_ ’, but he was too scared of someone hurting him if they found him. 

_Wasn’t this place at least somewhat navigable before?_

All this ice, even though winter hadn’t started yet. 

He got up with enough clinging and stumbling around. He huffed the air, noticing how dragon’s breath fell from between his teeth. Even the air tasted chilly, unpleasant. 

If he could make it home, if he would be accepted at home, then at least it would be warmer in there - an actual warmth, a warming fire that he could start from the logs. People had always complained that his family had chopped down far too many trees, ‘Ancap’ had always thought that they had what they needed, so it was just fine, right?

_Just fine, right?_

‘Ancap’ looked up at the sky as he was struck by the utterly overwhelming sense of his condition. There were no stars – the centrists at least had stars, and lights that shone brighter, as bright as they needed to. This place was just dark, empty, miserable. Threatening even and it would never be anything more than that – threatening.

_Where was home?_

He took in another breath of air, colder, cold enough for it to feel as if it was choking him. Home or not, he just wanted to be lucky enough to find somewhere that was warm and not become roadkill to whoever wished to dispose of him.

Even after discovering where he was supposed to be, the hints of a world where he _could_ be happy, he still felt like crying. Not moving, just staring, ‘Ancap’ felt his eyes well with tears again. 

He might never get there. All because he had been created here. 

It was only a few pictures, that’s it, a few pictures, it had spent his mind into a spin. His few desires were slipping away from him, and the one thing he thought he wanted just hours ago… when he was being freed from ‘The Navigator’ was fighting against him.

_And now the people… the people might do too._

Where would he run, though?

There were no more trains, he had to stay here till morning, regardless if he was going to come across people who hated him.

It was a slow process, getting home. 

His old house was still there when he reached it. Appearing just as it was, nothing unusual about it, at least nothing on the outside. It was pretty similar to most of the houses around him. For a place that relied so much on sameness, on patterns, you could cross the wrong stream, walk across the wrong bridge and end up in an entirely different place. 

‘Ancap’ felt lucky that he finally managed to got here after battling with the environment. He’d be scared to leave the house again after this, but that would mean that he would never get to leave this area either… 

_Don’t think about this now, your life is on the line._

He knocked on the door and winced. 

_Were his parents asleep by now?_

_How late was it even?_

He knocked on the door.

He kept knocking on the door.

The sound of the wood banging against his fist ringing out as an echo, his ears felt physical pain from the sound.

He would cry out for the attention of his parents inside if he wasn’t so afraid of them now.

However, instead of crying out for attention, he just cried. He felt his eyes well up with water, and his cheeks burn – only made worse by the wintry wind.

He threw his hat off, which was at least keeping his head warm and pushed it into his face. He screamed, before even realising that someone had answered the door to him. 

“Jack, is that you?”

He heard them and stopped screaming.

He took his hat from his face and looked into it before scrunching it up and throwing it on the floor. 

‘Ancap’ wasn’t sure what to say, would it be better if he tried to look as if he fully rejected his new status? Or that he was woefully trying to accept it? Either way, it was a lie, and he still felt like a ‘fake’ Ancap, regardless of what he was saying or thinking…

Breathing slowly… he looked up with his eyes rounder than ever, tears shimmering from the corners and falling onto the slippery ground. 

“That is you, Jack, isn’t it?” ‘Ancap’ noticed that it was his dad trying to talk to him.

He didn’t look up at him though, he just kept crying, afraid to look forward but also afraid to run away. 

“Hmph, you do look different, very different, why don’t you come inside, son, you should talk to us about it.”

“M-Me come inside? Come inside the house?” ‘Ancap’ was still crying but forced himself to speak.

“Yes, of course, why?”

‘Ancap’ shuffled his feet and mumbled. Still sniffing from his throat getting so clogged with mucus. He didn’t say anything, getting dizzy.

He saw his father step out of the doorframe and away from the house’s warmth, he put his shoulder on ‘Ancap’ and gently dusted the dirt off his blazer. “Please, come inside.”

‘Ancap’ nodded and tried to gently pushed away his father’s hand. He walked to the door, step by step, hesitating as he leaned on its frame and peered into the sitting room. 

“Go on, we won’t do anything, don’t worry. We just want to talk about this.”

He believed them and threw himself on one of the two sofas in the room. 

The fire wasn’t on, the lights were all off in the house. In the corner of the room, the pale curtains slowly moved in a far corner of the room, they too were shivering from the cold of the wind that was blowing in the room.

The brown colours were washed out from the dark. ‘Ancap’s’ eyes fluttered as he was torn between shutting them and wanting to keep them wide open. He had to keep himself awake. If he was really being allowed in the house, then there must have been a good (or bad) reason for it. 

He was still cold, freezing cold. Getting inside of the house hadn’t changed anything. To the point, it was hard to tell if it was his own fault he was cold. Like it was a kind of pain, an artificial pain that had come from him existing in a hostile environment.

Or maybe he was in an artificial pain from all the denial he had faced today – he still thought it couldn’t be his real identity after all. He denied who he was on an integral level, his being, it was bound to.

‘Ancap’ stretched out his arms across the to the top of the sofa arm, still blinking rapidly in a way to remain awake. He looked over to the fireplace briefly and imagined pulling logs into its base. He was used to seeing the fire roaring every day after he had come home from school - the smell of deep smell of the smoke and the crackling of the wood. Sparks flying as one of the only lights in the room danced against the fading dawn. 

His family trying to start conversations with him. Him having nothing to say but trying to think of something. He was a distant person, to everyone, and he couldn’t even help it. To tell the truth; he did have periods where he questioned why he was here in the first place. He didn’t belong here, never did, it was only now that he had changed into something worthy of hatred that he could fully realise this. 

‘The Navigator’ it had destroyed this place, because, eventually, it would actually destroy him too. 

His father’s footsteps padded as ‘Ancap’ heard him walk across the house’s wooden floor. 

“Jack? You’re really a LibRight? Huh? I guess I shouldn’t have joked about that, huh?”

‘Ancap’ lifted his head and saw as his father sat down on the other sofa that was opposite him. He then looked to the door – which had now been shut – and thought about how he had thrown his hat off and crushed it.

A stereotypical look to a LibRight, yes, but it was still a sign that he could be accepted here… considering he was given it a gift, and a kind of inoffensive joke.

“Well, yeah… I am…” ‘Ancap’ sat up and looked back at his father. 

“I guess I’m less surprised than I should be.”

“You-you’re not surprised about this?” ‘Ancap’ gently pointed at himself, indicating the clearly noticeable yellow glow.

“Not, overly, I’m not shocked, or scared for that matter.” 

“Y-you don’t think I’m evil or… brainwashed?” 

‘Ancap’ crossed his arms over his chest.

“I wouldn’t call you evil. Sure, it turns out that we disagree on a fundamental level and… most of those here would see it much worse than that but I… I don’t think you’re evil.”

“I’m not evil?” ‘Ancap’ repeated. 

“I wouldn’t have thought it was funny, otherwise. This will probably sound weird considering… everything, but you’re still my son, regardless of what Ideology you are going to embody.”

‘Ancap’ twisted his head, his father was being, honest, for sure, entirely honest. There were no jokes here, he still cared about him despite the fact he was…

_Impossible._

“So, does that mean that I can stay here? That I can have a home and I don’t need to run away and have n-nothing to come back to.” ‘Ancap’ stopped crossing his arms and instead started to fiddle with his fingers, looking away from his father.

“Of course, we would never throw you out, you will always be welcome here, whether you belong to this quadrant or not.”

‘Ancap’ had a home, he was safe, and he had a home! But still, being safe made it feel as if Ancapistan was growing more distant. Those dazzling lights, the beauty and joy he had felt. 

Safety was acceptable, for now. He had to focus on himself more, just his existence as a new Ideology, and he could daydream about what he could become. If he was safe, that meant that he still had a future.

He looked up for but a second. “Thank you.”

“You know? I always sensed that you would end up leaving here one day. Not even living in the most Socialist place made you a true Socialist. You never really understood this place, and nothing otherwise could convince you.”

“I-It it’s not a bad thing?”

“Not everyone can perfectly mimic how they are raised. And some can’t mimic it at all…. Say, can I ask what kind of LibRight you are? Are you a Libertarian, you kind of seem to me like a Libertarian?”

‘Ancap’ didn’t want to lie, he didn’t have the capacity to lie, but he didn’t want to say it. “Dad, I’m an Ancap, a god damn Anarcho-Capitalist! I’m not even a Libertarian, not even a Minarchist… an Anarcho-Capitalist…”

There was shock, silence from both of them. ‘Ancap’ wanted to cry again. Even for a LibRight. He was ‘bad’. He was sure that his father wasn’t becoming the exact embodiment of what his Ideology feared.

“Well, that is a surprise…”

“That’s it? A surprise?”

“Still doesn’t change the fact you’re my son, does it?”

‘Ancap’ shook his head.

“Then I’m not going to let it get to me. You leave when you’re ready. I know most wouldn’t agree, but it feels like it is my job. Sure, you might have your colour now, but you are still young, and a lot of people forget that…”

“It really doesn’t matter to that I’m… a freaking capitalist?” 

The room was starting to feel a little less cold, even though there was no fire there for him.

“Not at all, not to me anyway. Jack, I know you… want to stay here, but if you are staying here, then there is something that I need to tell you.”

‘Ancap’ felt his muscles go frail, he laid back on the sofa instead of sitting up so straight it was as if he was standing to attention. He nodded at his father’s words. 

“If you do stay here, we can’t be seen with you.”

“Y-yeah I get it.”

“In fact, I think it’s best if you try not to be seen at all. Just try and get home as soon as possible,” his father said.

‘Ancap’s’ shoulders raised slightly. “T-they won’t try and kill me, will they?”

_I’m a capitalist, so I’m going to die._

“Kill is a bit of a strong word. Kill? No. But you might encounter people looking for a fight. And for us? Well, it would be difficult to get by if everyone knew that we were harbouring an Anarcho-Capitalist under our roof of all things. We’d be called traitors, or even worse, enemies of the state.”

His brain disconnected from the conversation. Picturing those endless riverways, crossing into each other. The ice that was never there in the autumn before. The maroon colours of the pavement making the ice itself hidden too. A maze, created for the invading Ancap, a labyrinth to trick him into harming himself and becoming a target for the Socialist citizens.

He was fine without going outside, he didn’t need to go outside. This community, the people of his quadrant, he could never make friends with them. This was the full result of that. The finale of that.

“I get it, I promise to be careful.”

“I know you will…”

‘Ancap’ looked up at the staircase, only a few of its steps could be made out. The top entirely encased in shadow, it looked as if you would fall. 

“Uh, you know, mom is still asleep, isn’t she, and she didn’t see me come back, is she going to be mad that I’m… this?” ‘Ancap’ asked.

“She’ll be fine, to tell you the truth, we already discussed this and mentally prepared for it. I can just tell her that you’re finally back, but we’ll talk through everything else in the morning. Aren’t you tired too?”

‘Ancap’ stood up, his weak body close to stumbling, his recently realised dizziness almost making him fall onto the sofa again. “I am very tired. I know it sounds stupid, but it feels like months since I last saw my own bed.”

His father cracked a smile. “Well, you should go and see it again, I bet it misses you.”

“M-maybe.” ‘Ancap’s’ voice wobbled as he turned around, eyeing the ghostly staircase.

Leaning his hand on the bannister, he dug into his memory to recall the exact placement of each of the steps. Half a stride upwards, no more, no less. One of them had always squeaked distinctively, the fifth step. 

He had fallen on these stairs a lot more than he ever should of - one day in the distant past he remembered that his legs were covered his bandages from the scuffs he had gotten from falling down the last steps of the stairwell. It was a pleasant memory now, considering everything else that had happened to him.

Each stepped creaked, so he could at least rely on sound to reach the top. Maybe the stairs were part of the house that was destroyed by ‘The Navigator’ in his scenario. Or one of the first, as the rest of the structure was brought down.

His room, the first one on the left, he switched the light on, and it was just how he had left it. 

For a Socialist, ‘Ancap’ had a lot of nice things, the few people that he had tried to make friends with sort of jealous – or that’s how he saw it anyway. A double bed, enough room for a desk with a computer on it and enough room to do all of the piles of homework that the centrist schools would give him. The lights in his room were distinctly different from downstairs too: a distinct difference from the fireplace, ‘Ancap’ was able to have actual lightbulbs, several of them in fact, glittering above his bedframe. 

When his few Socialist friends came to visit him, they would always complain about how electricity he was using. He barely had any friends at his centrist school either, but he was still glad he got to go there, he didn’t have to be surrounded by Socialists all day.

His carpet was a similar pale colour to the downstairs. His bedsheets, he had picked them out himself, a sparkling gold colour. At the time, he did not realise the colour had spoken to some kind of luxury that, deep down, he had been seeking. Just above that, he noticed his perhaps ironic, picture of Marx which hung above his bed.

It was on his birthday, a couple of a years ago, he had no idea what he was expecting to be wrapped up in a shape that flat and rectangular. All Socialists were expected to respect Marx, of course, but it still felt like an odd ‘gift’. While he was sitting there puzzled his parents insisted that they all run up that rickety staircase and place it in a perfect frame so that he could see it whenever he walked in the room. 

He had mostly been able to ignore it, he was just a figurehead after all. A human figurehead at that, he had but another point of untouchability. Today, he was looking at it, and he was feeling something, rage. 

He peered at it with a kind of envy, or perhaps disgust. Too tired, overrun he couldn’t spurn himself into a blind fury that would smash the idol like it deserved. Instead, ‘Ancap’ reached over and grabbed the image, trying not to stare at it for too long he stashed under the bed – kicking it to make sure that it was out of sight completely. 

The room became bleaker, but a lot better. 

‘Ancap’ threw himself on his bed. He was sure he had a comfy pair of pyjamas somewhere, but he was now too lazy to find them. Despite his earlier hesitations, he started to drift off as soon as his head hit the pillow. He had his own bed and his own space, the calmer he felt his mind drift back to his new identity, that one day he will find it, fully, even if today was not that day. 

_I’m going to be a LibRight, and that will be a good thing._

_I’m not evil._

His eyes shut – he couldn’t get the image of the glowing city out of his brain. The freedom, the riches, the opulence, the place where he could be who he wanted and damn anybody else who tried to judge him for it. 

The more he fell into sleep, the more he dreamed.

Ancapistan, the inescapable place and yet, the cure for his nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dramatic chapter title is dramatic!
> 
> The next chapter returns to the perspective of Joseph, Commie, who has also had a change of heart as he and everyone else returns to school to start their new lives.


	7. Day Two

The Second Day: Their Ideological training was to start.

No longer would the Extremists be forced to sit with the centrists through history and science class. They would have their own unique classes that would mature them into ‘real’ Ideologies. 

Their old lives were truly over, and their new ones just about to start. 

As Commie returned to the school, he was in high spirits.

Smug, almost. 

He had just aligned himself with the most pragmatic and well-constructed form of Communism, the state to ensure that each citizen would be protected in their workplace and equal distribution of income. 

The Anarchist was chaotic, friend or not, Joseph could not imagine how qui could stop a state from forming under cuius structure anyway, or have people end up Joseph hadn’t betrayed the cause, what was their cause, but he was just… right.

He would tell quem about it, he would have to. Even though there was no way he could change cuius mind now, the Ancom had cuius colour, that bright green would never budge unless the worst was to happen.

But he would be smug about it, he’d enjoy telling quem how wrong he used to be and how wrong qui is too. In a nice way, he still wanted to be friends with the Ancom, but things were different now. They were two different ends of the same spectrum. They existed in different spaces. 

Commie found himself accepting the reality some things were a lot more important than their friendship, more important than the last fifteen years of their lives. The cause. The workers cause. If he was a Communist, an Authoritarian Communist, then he wanted to show his utmost loyalty to that. 

Messing with Anarchists sounded like more trouble than it was worth. Still leftists, yes, Leftist Unity was real at one point, and he knew Communists who still felt it in their hearts. The old ones with their hearts filled with hope. Commie was one of the younger ones though if anything his heart should have been filled with cynicism. 

Filled? That felt like an overstatement. There was still something inside of him that didn’t want to throw himself blindly into Marxist service. He had told the Ancom that he still wanted to be cuius friend and that he believed in quem. It was kind of a promise, and Commie still didn’t want to let down a promise.

He could keep that promise at a distance, right?

It seemed like the best option for now, that imaginary idea of ‘Leftist Unity’ still an ideal rather than a solid belief. He couldn’t put that much energy into it, but he couldn’t just ignore it either. 

It wasn’t like him, and Ancom were going to meet each other often anyway. The timetables they would both receive would send them to entirely different places to learn entirely different things. But how often they would get to see each other, Commie still didn’t know, once, perhaps twice? He’d have to wait.

Another thing that Commie was feeling smug about, the centrists. Commie still took their train to school every day. The Social Democrats, centre-leftists had an interesting attempt at public transport. Yes, it could have gotten by, but it was gravely underfunded.

They placed an awful lot of focus on technology, automatic glass doors, speeds at over 120 mph, it made Commie wonder how poorly paid the engineers who put this all together were. 

Despite its attempt to look ‘fancy’ likely to please their tendencies toward capitalism, they knew that much of the train was poorly maintained. Peeling seats, scuffed carpets and guard uniforms which clearly hadn’t been replaced in years – also likely overworked.

The trains, despite their speed, weren’t on time often. They were dragged down by capitalism, impassionate and unfree workers - nothing like what would happen in the north-west where he was from. 

There was one enjoyable thing about these trains though, the large open window. It took quite a bit of time for Commie to reach his centrist school. He wouldn’t really do much in that time other than reading (mostly a good theory book, occasionally some Socialist Realism fiction from his town, or even from Earth, as he was today) or look out of the window.

Through that, Commie could see how the World of Ideas changed itself, going from zone to zone, from stop to stop. The heavy snow that plummeted through the sky in the far-authoritarian left quadrant. To the temperature towns with still winds that the centrists lived in. It was amusing to see how the rich snowfall melted into tundra, grassland and then concrete. 

Extremist habitats were tricky to navigate for the average dumb centrists and could be downright vicious to those who belonged to opposing quadrants. Those that belonged there always knew how to navigate it, though, Commie had never been a stranger to the cold.

Commie didn’t know what was worse. The cement jungle that the centrists languished in, or the literal jungle that the Anarchists lived in. He had never visited any of the  _ right-wing  _ areas – the very idea of it made him feel sick to the stomach. But he always had kind of accepted the sticky, humid environment that the Ancom had lived in when he had visited quem. 

Although years back, he wanted to live there, he had already struggled to project himself into that environment. He was a lover of the cold. He could never match those Libertarian’s love of sunny weather or dispositions. 

His thoughts racing, the concept of becoming a true Communist, just ahead of him, he had only finished two chapters of his reading when the city started to set in around him. It was time for him to get off the train. 

Commie grabbed his bag, a large, plain grey satchel and slipped his book inside of it. Pulling it over his shoulder and moving along the train carriage: keeping in mind the people that passed him by.

He wondered how strange it must have been for the other (mostly centrist) passengers to look upon this tall Communist who had a clear plan to travel into their territory without ill intent. 

If he had wanted to come here, like many older Communists, for the sake of committing ‘praxis’, then he wouldn’t have taken such an obvious mode of transport. He probably would have found some sneaky way to enter the city, and fought the centrist by surprise – a show of their mindset and their own powers too.

Fighting against the kulaks (and the others) would have to wait. Ideologies had to reach their mid-twenties before they could fully realise their powers, and it’s also the time that they would desire more and more praxis to fuel their existences.

For now, Ideologies who had only recently received their colour did not need praxis to function, but their biases were definitely ingrained. What made them happy, already altered, they might still seek out praxis if they found a very easy way to do it. 

Commie didn’t notice anybody staring at him when he left. When he was just colourless that made sense but now he was a bright red far-leftist surely someone should have taken notice? 

No matter, he found himself leaving the train last. The station was close to the school, the centre of the centre. The longer that Commie thought about it, the more he got chills.

_ Centrism, here? _

He wouldn’t have to be among centrists though, he didn’t even have to meet any non-communists anymore. He could stay completely away from all of the ‘others’ if he wanted to. He could easily hide at recess if he really wanted as well. He could keep up appearances with the other leftists, that’s the least he would have been able to stand.

Taking a gasp of the somewhat polluted air, he stepped forward toward the school. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw an overpriced, bourgeoise looking car slammed straight into a road sign.

_ Typical rich people. _

He contemplated burning the disgusting vehicle, but that also seemed like something Jay, Ancom would have told him to do. 

_ Best to just move on and not observe their petty luxury. _

Commie had walked in and out of the school building so many times. Every day he had taken the same glass elevator upward after he crossed the yard. It at first seemed weird to place an elevator – after all, the only thing it looked onto was the grey, concrete recess area. The only colour being the white or blue of an occasional football - another game for the lost proletariat to indulge themselves in their confinement. 

Eventually, as the elevator reached the top, there was at least a glimpse of something beautiful the centrist skyline. Yes, it was still mostly rows of grey, metallic and asphalt material. If you squinted, you could see the odd glimmer of pale red or leaf green, and at night the lights would strike your eyes in a way that Commie would never get to see where he lived. 

He didn’t like these lights, per se, in fact, with his new self that was completely entrenched in Communism, he had hated them more. But his attempt at empathy had him contemplating that someone must have liked staring at these lights and that they were pretty to someone. 

The right side of the school probably had an even brighter setting, from what Commie speculated. Far more splendour – typical of the kulaks. Commie wouldn’t even have to look out that side of the window anymore. He was surprisingly thankful for that.

The school was in a high-up place. It wasn’t the tallest building around it by any means, it was surrounded many far, far taller buildings. Even places that floated in the air. But it did consist of several floors, four in fact, with only two of those floors actually being used for education. The last, bottom floor likely just consisted of the space where ‘The Navigator’ was taken. But Commie had no idea what the top floor did, no students were ever allowed up there. He didn’t want to find out. Even the previous curiosity he had held as a young Ideology about the place had been drained.

The school was then spread out in a shape much like the World of Ideas itself, in four corners, and then a giant centre. The giant centre, where all the centrist students would go to learn their ‘propaganda’ so that they would integrate into their repressive, capitalist, societies.

But no more for Commie! He would get to stick to the left side of the school, where he would learn real theory, from real Communists just like him. 

Just yesterday, he probably would have felt a little sad at the idea of not seeing his classmates, the same classmates every day like friends. Now he was thankful that he wouldn’t have to look at most of them ever again. He was sure a large portion of them were going to reek of capitalists anyway.

He wasn’t as bitter as this before, was he? 

No matter, it was simply because he was happy in who he was.

He saw the light in science, belief, which was far more important than restricting his ideas so others could be comfortable around him.

Looking back, Commie realised he had done that for far too long.

Especially for that Ancom.

In order to receive their timetables, all of the students, now indebted to their colour had to meet in one large room. They might not be able to recognise each other anymore, their Ideologies warping them so much.

Even these former acquaintances would be wary of each other if their ideas were so varied, for good reason.

One long corridor, the second-floor room in the dead centre of the school. Directly above where they had all gone yesterday. As he walked through, Commie looked around him, the windows as transparent as the elevator that he travelled through in. 

Pieces of the school building, pieces of the outside merging together. The longer you stared the more rooms that you could make out. In the distance, places that were built of solid colour. He remembered when he had first come here, those Ideologies from centrist households screaming in fear at the concept of just meeting an Extremist.

_ How many of those who were screaming then had become Extremists now? And were they happy about what they had become, or were they still screaming? _

The door was open when Commie had reached the end of said hallways, inside was so much darker, and a lot more empty than the openness of the school entrance, and even less open than that of the halls, where all the lockers and most ‘classrooms’ were kept. It was grey inside, all grey, the walls and carpet all grey. There was one single light which admitted a yellow-y glow. It wasn’t enough to light the whole room – but a small amount of light was also emitted by a digital computer screen that took up half the wall. From here, Commie couldn’t read what was on it, but it seemed like an awful lot of information. Words, black words printed on an off-white screen that was also fading into the greyness. In front of the digital screen was the outline of several heads, shrouded in darkness, Ideologies like him who were ready to start their journeys. 

Some of them, they must have been so hesitant, this change so alien to them, that they would be falling into worlds that maybe never knew existed.

Those that were told to never travel too far to the north, the east, the west, or the south. Those that were told of the ‘demons’ living there.

They got to become the demons now.

Of course, some of those who were called ‘demons’ were simply comrades that would find themselves with an amazing part to play in the protection of the workers or even a revolution. 

As he walked in, he saw a level of confusion that could only be matched by the end of ‘The Navigator’ which happened yesterday. There was a buzz of discussion, noisy discussion as voices drifted around the otherwise mostly empty room. Many of the students were sitting in rows, in front of them were desks so that they had a portion of individual space. Ideologies were leaning over to each other, gesturing in all kinds of over-expressive ways, hands flying up in the air, aggressive pointing as they berated their former friends for what they had turned into – by choice or not.

Some of the more, anti-authoritarian Ideologies were standing around the walls. Their arms folded and pushed against it, some with only one leg pushing it to keep them afloat. These Ideologies were already getting in touch with their natural sense of defiance. 

Commie knew that he wouldn’t be having any of that though, he found the nearest seat and sat patiently, looking ahead at whatever words had been left onto the board.

He had not noticed him before because of the light, but, their now old homeroom teacher, Moderate was standing there. Arms dropped, holding a clipboard which he was tapping with his index finger. Under the glow of the white-tinged screen, Commie could see the circles under his eyes.

Commie then squinted at the screen. What appeared to be written on it… 

_ A spreadsheet? _

A spreadsheet with numbers written on it, that at least Commie could make out. There was a bunch of text written by the numbers, not something that he could understand, though, it seemed to be some kind of code that the school had come up with. Letters in all capitals, some of them in red, but most of them in black.

As he was busy squinting, he heard footsteps come up behind him. Someone tapped from his chair. He wanted to pay attention, be ready for the class, but he couldn’t stop the temptation to just turn around and…

_ Shit, it’s quem! It’s Ancom! _

“Hey, J-Commie, it’s you!” 

Commie fully turned around, damn his disobedience, even to this centrist. “Shhhhh, Ancom, it’s…”

“It’s what?” the Ancom terribly loud, despite Commie shushing him. 

“Look, Ancom, my friend, I’ve had a change of heart…” 

The Ancom twisted cuius head and hummed. “That’s funny, so have I!”

Even in the darkness of the room, Ancom’s deep green eyes stood out. 

“You have, An-Ancom?”

Ancom nodded. “It’s not easy to say, but, I don’t think we should remain close friends, at least not now, I need to think things through.”

“You know, me too.” 

Ancom touched the side of the table that Commie was leaning on and looked over at him. Commie wasn’t sure if he wanted to look back, but he did anyway.

“It’ll be a bit difficult to explain,” Ancom said, “You know I mentioned Leftist Unity yesterday?”

“Leftist unity, you say?”

_ The ancient pact that had failed, there was still hope for it. _

_ Hope if you looked deep, deep down. _

Ancom nodded slowly and then moved cuius hand from the table over to Commie’s shoulder. “I learnt about it; I learnt a bit too much.”

“What had they told you, Anarchist.”

“They said to me that it was… it was…”

“Yes, Ancom, please, spit it out!”

“That it was dangerous. I mean, I’m an Anarchist, I shouldn’t be scared of a bit of danger. But you know, it was dangerous in a different way because…”

_ Qui is scared of becoming like me, isn’t qui? _

“It was dangerous because we were starting to merge with you! And then, you, you took advantage of that weakness, and I look at you and know…” Ancom’s voice was loud enough to almost overpower the other screaming students. 

“Merging with you? Of course, that is to part of my fears! You have to understand, Ancom, chaos is something that you cannot stand when you have a leftist-”

“It’s not about chaos! It’s about the Communists always thinking they’re right and then…”

“Then what! You lose your entire society because some halfwit decides to push capitalism and you can’t even…”

“Shut up! Shut up! We are not capitalists we are –”

“Then why are you letting so many… other anarchists into your land, you’re just gonna let the Ancaps sneak in one day you’re gonna…”

“Us? Us?! You create state capitalism by…”

“State capitalism! But you cannot protect the rights of the proletariat without a state, whatever you have in your weird rainforest in just blatant chaos!”

“And… and you’d kill me to end that chaos, wouldn’t you? You’re a traitor! A freaking traitor!”

“And you are a fake communist!”

The two of them were just like the rest, wrestling with the transformation, themselves and then each other.

Even though they knew what was going to happen, even if, like Ancom, they knew that their beliefs were just as they expected. 

Commie, looking back at his old friend could tell that qui was breaking. 

Neither Commie nor Ancom had lost their homes, but they had still lost something and what they had to gain was still a mystery. 

“Everyone, quiet, everyone!” Moderate clapped his hands together, he had a face like thunder. 

Commie, and most likely, none of the other students, had ever seen Moderate look like that before. He was normally so accepting, even meek he could barely keep the class in check. No amount of him politely telling the class to be quiet would ever do anything. This time he looked ready to strike.

All of these new Ideologies, many of them extreme ones, was probably putting him, on edge. It was well known that centrists didn’t need as much praxis as those closer to the edge of the compass, but they still needed some of it. Seeing extremists succumbing to the status quo probably would have given him what he ‘needed’. Commie interpreted it as him holding something back.

“Now that everyone is here, it is time for you all to receive your timetables.” Moderate pulled out his clipboard and skimmed over its contents. “It seems that most of you will be getting completely unique timetables this year, but no matter, it is just that none of you will be seeing each other in every lesson.” 

Moderate looked up at the class again before pulling all of the paper off the clipboard he was holding and throwing the rest of the clipboard itself onto the ground. 

“We haven’t had completely unique timetables in years, though I’m sure you’ve noticed… the influx of extremists and… wackies in the past few years. Guess you lot are just a natural extension of it.”

Moderate calling everyone ‘you lot’ was not like him at all. His caustic-ness a change that Commie did not realise Moderate had in him.

Commie wanted to respect his higher-ups, naturally but at the same time, centrists were largely misled capitalists, so he had no need to follow his orders. 

Moderate was about to give him his way toward his true communist path, for that he could listen to him, with a tinge of regret, but he could listen to him. 

“I won’t need to call you out, but I will pass around each of your timetables once I recognise you beneath – your ideas.” Moderate pushed back his brown hair covering his eye and started to walk around the darkly lit classroom. 

He passed each of the students, giving them one quick look before he threw a sheet of paper in front of their face. After giving them said sheet of paper, he said their names in a rather blunt tone of voice: their Ideology names, their numbers. 

Eventually, Moderate reached the now silent Ancom and Commie. He flung down the timetables, turning his head to them only once. “Communist #2371 and Anarcho-Communist #1283 here are your lessons for the next semester and foreseeable future.”

The two of them grabbed the papers. 

Commie felt his hands tremble as the paper fluttered around, his fingertips tapping the flimsy parchment. His timetable looked full, as he had wanted it. Every hour of the day, until the late afternoon was filled with exactly what he wanted.

Tons of theory, Marxist theory, most importantly (he could probably teach his classmates a thing or two), economics, sociology, even more theory, one of the blocks lasting three hours!

He would surely be the top of his classes with the highest scoring grades.

Being ‘the most esteemed comrade’ would be fine if otherwise. Commie would still hate to make his fellow allies feel as if they were less than worthy.

Commie then imagined himself in the position of an advisor for the rest of his class. Not doubt some of the new comrades would struggle with some of the homework. They couldn’t be left behind. 

“Hey, Commie, take a look at this!” Ancom’s voice had changed back to cuius cheery expression.

“What is it, Com-Ancom…” 

“I think we have a Marxist theory class at the same time, see!” Ancom poked at Commie’s timetable, jabbing it so hard that Commie feared that it might break.

“Wait, we do?”

“Yeah! We do!” Ancom clapped cuius hands together, it was like some of cuius old self was back. 

“Huh?” Commie looked over to Ancom’s timetable and then back to him. 

“Well, we do!” 

Commie wasn’t sure how he felt about this, was he even supposed to be happy that Ancom seemed happy now? Like qui had forgotten the argument that they had just had.

“Maybe we don’t have to go out separate ways after all, huh?” Ancom twiddled cuius thumbs.

“But we still shouldn’t be close friends, should we, not like this?”

“No, no, not at all like this, we can’t be.”

“We’re too different now, it is but the law of the world.”

“I don’t need authoritarians, I’m an Anarchist, it’s fine.”

“And I don’t need some fake chaos dealer either! It is okay.”

The two of them turned away from each other. Commie folded his arms, he didn’t want to think about Ancom. Maybe, even when they had that one Marxism class together, he wouldn’t even look at quem. He needed to focus on his work anyway, perhaps it would be better if he had no time for friendship.

“Now that everyone has their timetables, can anybody who is migrating to north of the school could you please line up here, we need to work on your uniform assignment.” Moderate pointed to a space that was to the right of him. What looked to be an empty space. It was so dark in the room’s corners that it was hard to see anything. 

“Uniforms? You have uniforms?” Ancom turned around at Commie once last time, to laugh at him.

_ Authoritarian uniforms? As imagined by centrists?  _

But he already saw his clothing as an ideal attire for someone like him, it had even be made at the source of his ideas. It was authentic! What more could they do for him? 

He wasn’t going to let a centrist dictate his Ideology for him, he was a denizen at the source he knew how it was supposed to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Commie has quite a future ahead of him, with or without his old friends. 
> 
> Next chapter features James, who still can't accept 'The Navigator's' decision. Whether he can cope with it or not, the World of Ideas will try and convince him that this is where he belongs. How much will he be willing to fight?


	8. Undone

James had no idea if he had wanted to scorn the libertarians for being able to look just how they wanted or pity them for never knowing what it felt like to have a strong group identity. 

_Strong group identity, what was that?_

He had that at one point – it was nice. Nice while it lasted. 

It hadn’t involved trekking across his old homeland like a worthless beggar or hiding out in closed school buildings until dawn rose.

It also wasn’t being mocked for his ‘loss’ as soon as he arrived. 

Homonationalist was still there when he had returned to the school. After begging to get back in, of course, he doesn’t remember how loud he yelled at security, at the other students and what he had said to them, or what they had said to him either.

Once he had got inside, Homonationalist had fed him any number of petty, insulting comments. For some reason, it was the ones about his appearance that had shaken him the most. 

He had just recently taken on the absolutely obnoxious bright blue colour that he couldn’t hide. A signal to everyone that he didn’t belong here, or worse than that. James never thought he would be the guy to care about his appearance, including all those trivial things like the shape of his body, texture of his hair and markings on his face. 

He didn’t see himself as a ‘pretty boy’ and even thinking about it made him kind of sick. Who knew that he would take the insults from a guy wearing lip-gloss? 

It was so dark, so early in the morning and he had had nothing to do but languish in the school halls and attempt to see his way through the dark. He could have let himself to wander through the cold halls alone, or he could have done so with another entity. Homonationalist had decided to stick by him, for better or for worse.

This loneliness was unexplainably dark. 

Darker than whatever lightless halls the school building held.

Whatever any advice the internet had for him, it was useless, written by worthless, degenerate people. 

_Worthless people, that’s right._

But at that time, he had no other companionship, and he hated to admit it, but he was desperate.

That, and, the absence of someone having power over him, it felt odd. 

There was nobody to rely on, so he felt trapped, as paradoxical as it sounded.

It must have only been a couple of hours until dawn, it felt like days, it felt like he was there even longer than he was in ‘The Navigator’.

He never managed to keep track of the time, he only moaned about how long it took. Not about he was actually lonely, or how he was afraid that his entire life was being ripped away from him by uncaring goons, his former family. 

He just complained about the literal darkness around him, rather than the figurative one. Mediating between not wanting to get offended like a pussy and wanting to bitterly fight against whatever Homonationalist was trying to tell him. 

The school workers came and entered the building upon dawn. He vaguely remembered asking for the time and one of them coldly responding: ‘5am’. 

Later he found himself lined up against a wall with three other students, one of them, of course, being Homonationalist. The two of them gave off disgusting airs – anarchists. He had to hold his barf.

A centre-left Ideology was analysing them all, walking up and down the halls. James could have sworn they were some kind of Social Democrat, but centrists Ideologies all looked the same anyway. They all acted the same too. Worthless. 

The centrist apologised to all them. Apologised to them because they had lost it all, least they could have done really. Not that James wanted to accept help like a pathetic worm, but he had no choice. He thought that he might as well survive for now.

All of the leftover students were given some basic food, bread and orange juice mostly. They had all been moved into the canteen to eat the scraps that were available to them. Each of them was passed a key. A tiny key, attached to a large acrylic charm etched with a room number in white text. James’s was number 393. 

“Here are the keys to your new rooms. You’ll be able to stay here until all of you graduate, it is a requirement that we do this, regardless of your political Ideology.”

James grabbed the key, the tiny thing jangled around in the palm of his hand. It was so tiny in comparison to the giant keyring that it was attached to. Probably so the students couldn’t lose them but like a disorganised school system would ever care to replace them if they did. This was likely for them, not for him.

He hated to drift into that mindset, but one thing he had admired from the authoritarian realms was their military prowess. Centrist teaching was so… lacklustre, and nobody around him seemed to think so. He wished that the school system would borrow from some of those military practices, the rigidly, order. 

“When do we go to our rooms?” one of the Anarchists asked.

The centrist checked their watch. “After you get your timetables. Unless you have class, that is.”

“And when is that?”

“You have roughly thirty minutes.”

The centrist walked away, leaving all of them in the semi-abandoned cafeteria. Half the lights on. Blue and reflecting onto each of the lost souls. That place had such a change in atmosphere when it was empty. Normally full of tables of students with matching personalities, and soon matching colours, along with the ever-looming threat of those animals starting a food fight. There was so much more echo, and it even seemed more dignified. Well, as dignified as a school canteen could be.

It was then that Homonationalist had tried to start one of the only non-malicious conversations that he had tried to have with James. Although the contents of his words weren’t exactly… pleasant:

“Hey, _Nazi_ I think we’re roommates?”

James didn’t want to respond to that ‘name’ but did so out of his disgust. “Us roommates? You’ve got to be kidding.”

“No, look at these room keys, they are exactly the same. Guess you’re stuck with me now for a while, huh?”

“Ugh, will we ever get to change it?”

“Them, change it? Oh, they already made up their minds on this, likely as soon as we emerged out of that political compass test, especially you.”

James pushed his head against the table and huffed. He wasn’t supposed to be the type to question authority, and the other option would have been being stuck with those… 

Anarchists. 

Whatever the fuck Homonationalist was supposed to be, he was at least something that was supposed to belong to his quadrant. The other two of them were Anarchists, disgusting rebels. Regardless of whatever his actual Ideology was supposed to be, he knew that he didn’t want to rub shoulders with Anarchists.

No matter how much he looked into those pink eyes and wanted to tear them from their sockets, Homonationalist was dramatically better than… them. 

Heck, maybe it was wrong for him to question the school authorities, dumbass centrists, yes, but they were still adults who had had their colour for so much longer than he had, perhaps even centuries longer. It wasn’t his place to try and get them to change their decisions. He should just obey and that he did.

Now he was here, and he had been here an hour earlier than all the other students, like nearly an hour earlier than the rabble. At least he was able to sit as far away from Homonationalist, even if he would have to see him every single day of his waking life after this.

His brain was screaming after all that extended time in silence, not that he could listen.

All the adrenaline inside his mind was enough to keep him awake. 

So much to try and think about, or even comprehend. 

Most of it, he just pushed away, if he didn’t want it to be there, so he convinced himself that it wasn’t. 

If regular old James was here, he would have gone over and messed with the Anarchists, stole that cyan coloured one’s hat and thrown it out the window or something. The old James was gone though. 

He was lost. 

He had even drowned it out when receiving the timetable, snatching it from Moderate and then not looking at it, not at all.

If he knew what life path was drawn out of him, he would either feel inadvertently excited or disgusted by it. Neither of which were pleasant feelings. 

Excitement, even joy, coming from this new Ideology embedded into him, the one that was hated by everyone. He’d much rather feel nothing at all.

At least if he didn’t put on a uniform, then he could have pretended that nothing was going to change. The young Ideologies at the school had what you would call a ‘loose’ uniform or a dress code. 

Sticking to the dress code, it had made James feel smart, dignified. 

But he didn’t want whatever uniform code they were going to impose on him now. The only reason being that it was likely to enforce his new role and thus enhance both the connection that he had to it and the targeting he would suffer from it.

Although, as far as James understood, those two were the same in his mind.

There weren’t as many authoritarians this year, although one in the line did distinctly catch his eye – the Communist.

The tankie wasn’t a part of James’s supposed quadrant, but the bright red colour was garish, and from his face alone, he could tell that this must have been that friend of that weird Anarchist kid.

This could be fun if James could push the whole ‘assigned Nazi’ thing aside to mess with the Bolshevik. He smirked, looking at the red Ideology who was already wearing an Ushanka and trench coat. 

But if he was to mess with him, then he would just be playing into his’ instincts’. The left and right being natural enemies, anything that would please his inner extremist wasn’t something he wanted to do.

He wasn’t an extremist anyway, and he shouldn’t have been telling himself that.

James turned his gaze away from the Communist and stood to attention with the rest of the new Authoritarians. 

Moderate was standing next to the door, sighing and pushing the palm of his hand against his face. His eyes peering through his fingers, judging them all. 

Especially James, he was an icon of judgement. 

Soon there would be no way for him to hide from it, at least, not here. The requirements for the Authoritarian areas of the school being how they were, or how James had heard that they were.

Places of enforcement, demand and frightening order. 

They were gossiped about as hellish places. Nobody wanted to go there willingly.

They had never seemed that threatening to James, though that child of Ancom’s, would often scream at him and tell him how he was going to end up there for his blatant ‘bad attitude’.

Well, the child of Ancom’s was right. 

Regardless of if he was a real Authoritarian, he was being lead there, and there was no way out.

His demands wouldn’t be listened to and demanding anything from the real, fully-formed Authoritarian Ideologies that existed on school grounds was pointless as they wouldn’t take no for an answer.

He stood and waited.

“Yeah, that’s all of you, well guess we’ll be going now, uniforms… you can pick them up once you go down this hall.”

Moderate moved in front of the entrance - a dark doorway with only an outline around it, through it, a soft glow which highlighted the rectangular which was stuck in the wall.

James thought for a second that the shifty Moderate was about to kick the door down, but he just pushed it open, viciously.

It was a strange reminder, how vicious that centrists could be. The centrists, his own parents, were vicious to him last night too, the way they slammed the door on him, and without saying anything to him, even goodbye.

He wasn’t alive to them. Not anymore.

It crossed him, that, if he was also to fully accept this, then he wouldn’t really be alive either.

_Fuck it, I won’t accept it. I don’t need to look at myself._

_I’ll put this on, and I don’t need to let it become me._

He gulped as he passed the threshold, he feared the authenticity of the place. 

At first, the authoritarian sector of the school looked just as the other entranceways did. White-shaded, mostly windows, and the city around them. The only difference being the lights on the floor running in three different directions – red on the left, blue on the right, purple straight ahead.

It was some of the brightest lights that James had seen in twelve hours. The night had been dark, the school halls, even the cafeteria when the school staff came back had been dark. James looked down and shielded his eyes from the ghastly, but normal-looking school area. 

He lifted his eyes up and saw Moderate – his bleak grey form dulling the environment around him, but the scent of a centrist got on James’s nerves.

_It’s just a centrist. Don’t feed the Ideology, don’t feed the Ideology._

Moderate was standing there, ahead of all of them, with several obedient characters behind him, waiting for an order. He looked left to right and then sighed.

“Ah right, they keep everything in the same place, don’t they!” Moderate pointed down the corridor. 

The most northerly corridor was narrow, very narrow in fact. The entire thing was a slow march forward and then down a staircase, which was much like the one which led to ‘The Navigator’, a bit too much like the one which led to ‘The Navigator’.

As they passed onto the first floor, everything grew darker again. The ‘cloakroom’ wasn’t as low down as ‘The Navigator’ that being, it wasn’t underground. It was actually on the same level as most of the science classrooms that James used to go to, and also the principal, Realist’s office. It wasn’t exactly a place that he wanted to see again this soon.

James resisted the temptation to look back. 

_Ugh, all those other students who weren’t… pushed into extremes would just get to go back to science and all that crap after this…_

He remembered that he had left his timetable there, sitting on the desk. He knew he wouldn’t have those ‘normal’ science lessons anymore, whatever he would have, however, he probably wouldn’t like. 

Or well, something that James wouldn’t like, but the extremist in his head probably would.

“Hey, extremists, open up, I thought you had said you would be ready for us,” Moderate said.

“Hey, we’re always ready, what do you expect for us? It’s you unenlightened folk who are lazy!” 

“Then open up the door, you lunatics.”

There was a swooshing sound as a doorway opened. James couldn’t see much of its contents from here, it seemed dull inside of there. There was something that looked like cloth jackets lined up on the walls. 

“Ah, well, guess I won’t have to ask Realist to dock your pay now!”

“Look, just come inside Moderate.”

“Everyone, time to enter. This won’t take too long.”

The room was far bigger on the inside than on the outside. The heart of the room was lit with a red-orange glow as the lighting bounced off against the carpet, there were rows of clothing: shirts, jackets, ties, and pretty much everything else you might need. Between each of the clothing racks was other rooms, sections with locked doors, must have been changing rooms.

Standing in the middle were two figures. One bright blue, and another one shaded closer to indigo. Upon further inspection, and allowing his Ideology-self serve some purpose, James noticed that one of them would have been named ‘Nazfem’ or ‘National Feminist’ and the other would have simply been named ‘Monarchism’. 

_Nazfems? We have those now? God, come on._

The idea of this woman, possibly being James’s teacher in the future, left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Welcome subjects!” said Monarchist, tugging on his giant cloak. “Today is the day where you receive the privilege of, uh, receiving your rightful positions within our school grounds.” 

“He means you gotta put some new clothing on or our departments are going to give you detention for the next twenty years.” Nazfem folded her arms, and her low eyes gazed across the room. 

“You peasants will be called one at a time, and then you will receive your new school uniforms, then you can go into the changing rooms in order to get dressed.”

“Once you’ve done that, then you will all need to immediately head to class. None of us tolerate latecomers.”

Monarchist lowered his head and nodded as Nazfem pulled out a paper list and started to read off of it.

James felt a sigh of relief when his name wasn’t called first. For a moment, he was able to lie to himself, suggesting that his name might not be called at all. 

Nazfem went through the names quickly, uniforms being handed out, and students being pushed away just as fast.

When she got to James, she squinted at the paper. “Here you go, N-Nazi? Wait, an actual Nazi?” Nazfem laughed. “Oh you don’t get those anymore. What an amusement. Kind of disgusting, but amusing.”

The silent Monarchist handed James a pile of clothing and pointed him toward the changing rooms. A uniform in dark navy, with a hat on the top. The two of them had unsteady glares. James wished he could punch the both of them, especially the Nazfem.

James knew he couldn’t disobey orders from his so-called superiors. His nature didn’t let him.

The changing room itself was also dressed in red, like the storage room. There was just enough space to move around, enough space to hang the old school blazer on some pegs but not much else. Most of the small room was overshadowed by a very large circular mirror.

A fairly ornate mirror too, old fashioned, likely fitted with some pseudo-gold details. The overall reflection was pristine, although it was hard to imagine a department based on might was busily cleaning mirrors often. They needed their new students to feel ‘smart’, I suppose.

James wondered what would happen if he wanted to keep his usual uniform on, or at least forego the hat, but he didn’t want to imagine what they would have said to him about that. How they would have punished him for it.

He didn’t have time to spare either, sure he could be the last person to leave, but that kind of tardiness was going to be looked down upon as well. 

James looked at what he had been given, to say it looked stereotypical was an understatement, especially the hate with the little symbol embedded in it. James poked at it and then attempted to dig his nail under it. It was as if, subconsciously, trying to pick it off.

Then again, it was either staring at all this clothing or staring at his own expression. James hadn’t encountered an actual mirror since the transformation. The best he had gotten was the passing glass buildings as he walked home. There were probably other mirrors here at the school, like in the gym rooms or somewhere like that if he had really wanted to look at himself.

But James didn’t want to see himself, in fact, he wanted the opposite.

He was doing everything to look away from the mirror. 

He knew that he would gag if he had to look at himself from a third-person perspective. To be made to look at his whole body, all the blue light shining from it unforgivingly. He would recognise what it meant too. If he had been any other Ideology, heck, the Ideology he was supposed to be, he would have directly attacked himself.

As he started to change, he adverted his eyes from the mirror entirely. He didn’t look at his own face, all he could see out of the corner of his eye was a moving blue light. It flashed in and out of his consciousness.

_Have to keep looking away._

_Got to keep looking away._

_This isn’t me._

When he wasn’t thinking about… who he was… putting on the costume wasn’t taking that long. He could pretend that it wasn’t him in the mirror, or in the body that was vaguely shown in the glass.

He still needed to straighten his tie though, and he also needed to put on that blasted hat. That hat, a symbol of poisoned memory and a scorned populous. They had picked it out, nay, made it, just for him. They wanted him to be outed and feel like shit because now that was magically what he wanted. 

As he took the hat and placed it on his head, his eyes meeting his own in the glass portal.

_Look, away, look away._

But he couldn’t. 

He became transfixed. 

With his tie still hanging halfway down his chest like a noose, this was the only sight that James had seen of himself, completely, in a time even before ‘The Navigator’ had cursed him. 

_Cursed him._

_It had cursed him._

At least with the mixed with the other colours of the previous uniform: green and white, with accents of red, yellow and a small amount of blue, which statured the brightness of his extremist shade.

But now it was shining, like a beacon, as the deep colours of all of the outfit’s components: its style was so military-esque and sleek. It was flattering almost but flattering in a bad way.

He didn’t exactly want it to be flattering, though.

No matter for that, it wasn’t long before he wasn’t looking at his clothing at all. He was looking at his eyes, the outline of his face. Everything that the pest, Homonationalist, was mocking him for. Yes, he realised he was ugly, and he deserved it. It made him sick to think of it, but it was correct.

All this colour had just made it worse.

He missed how he looked when he was absent of colour and absent of glow. His hair used to be a shade of brown if he could remember correctly. His eyes were grey, a light grey. Now everything was just that fucking ghastly shade of blue.

_Blue._

_Blue._

_Blue repeating._

A beacon. A fucking beacon.

A warning.

He hated that it was all so visible.

All so meaningful. Nothing here would exist without meaning. 

This stupid hat was his destiny, and he wasn’t the kind of man that would fight fate.

He saw his own teeth flash as he bared them. 

If he had to accept his face, then he could at least sense his rage about it.

Even if ‘The Navigator’ was wrong, what difference would it have made?

Maybe it couldn’t have worked out who he was, deeply and it would have given him his actual Ideology. But, it didn’t probably because it had wanted to live with this, to live like this.

And if he wasn’t made to argue with authority, then how could he fight against an all-powerful, seemingly infinite entity that dictated his entire society.

It was worthless. 

He was worthless. 

This split between Ideologies, it always had been this way, it wasn’t something he could take away, his Ideology-ness and he would hate to be the one to remove it. This was how the World of Ideas worked, their traditions and cultures. He shouldn’t disturb what had been created by trying to emulate humans. 

James rested his hand on the frame, the metal of the surrounding centrepiece. He tapped his fingernail on it, the same one he had tried to place under that hat earlier. 

His nail scrapped against the cold, glassy surface, like a fine block of ice it was really so easy to… 

Crack!

James immediately drew his hand away. He had already damaged the mirror, just by leaning on it. Not massively damaged, just a small line on very top but it was still noticeable. 

_Property Damage._

How dare he damage his highers property. 

Ugh, it made him shiver. 

The crack also made his eye split in two. Such a distorted image!

Even without his tie neat, James turned around from his mistake (unless the entirety of himself was the mistake).

He marched out of the changing room, his face all twisted, he was only making himself uglier, internally, externally he was aware of it. 

James immediately spied Nazfem and Monarchist still standing there. They were facing away from each other. Nazfem had her hands cupped while Monarchist had his folded with an expression as snooty as expected.

He wondered if it would be better if he were to sneakily run toward the exit, he needed to, shamefully, grab his timetable from the other room. 

_The most extreme AuthRight running toward the centrist area of the school, yeah, that’s not suspicious at all._

But at the same time, he would probably be noticed anyway, the last thing he wanted was these two superiors of his glaring at him. 

“Oh, the _Nazi_ right? The last one out.” Nazfem had already noticed him, and had pulled out her clipboard and had started noting even more things down.

“You better hurry up. If my judgements are correct, there are exactly three point seven minutes till your next class starts,” Monarchist said, looking at his invisible watch.

James nodded and silently walked away. He could the Nazfem laughing her ass off when she thought he had left. God, he would so punch her if she didn’t terrify him.

When he emerged, the light blinding him again, he was surprised that he didn’t see any of the other students walking past. At least, he thought so at first.

His head low, shoulders hunched, he trailed down to the place he had come from at first, hoping that there would be nobody there and it would be just as dark as it was before. 

That was until he felt someone place a hand on his shoulder. “Oh, huh, James, is that you? Really you?”

James? His old name, his real name. _Shit._

“Hey there, look up at me.” the person pressed on James’s shoulder harder.

That voice. 

“Joseph!” James spat out as he turned around.

_Ugh, that red figure, so tall._

Joseph had really become a stereotypical image of a commie. Like the kind, you’d see on movie posters. 

“Well, yes, it’s me. Ah, I forgot how short you were, you really are a stunning shade, a real extremist, huh? You’re as bright as me. We must be almost equally authoritarian… except.”

“Wait – are you trying to fucking compliment me?”

“The opposite, you’re a right-winger, destructive, overwhelmed with the idea of superiority, I don’t think a petty mite like you will ever gain that power though, especially from… dehumanising others.”

“Well, what if I do? What if this… is going to give me the power I need!” James was surprised at his own comeback.

“Like you ever will. Where are you expecting to go anywhere, after you graduate, after all this.”

“I’ll go back to, uh.”

“You plan on going back to that quadrant? Fight against those who had already lived there for so long? Against every other quadrant as they attack you? Well, good luck, you’re going to need it.” 

“I can! I will, I will do it!”

“Hmmm, we’ll see about that once I tell the rest of my class, hmmm even and the Anarchists that you’re what now…?” the Communist stared at him, before crouching down as it seemed as if he was trying to look into James’s soul.

“Oh no, no no, this can’t be? You’re a Nazi. Of all things? My God, I knew you were a jerk but not that absolute level of jerk! Pfft. Now I feel even more justified calling you to conflict, ah, this is gonna be fun. Our first praxis fix!” 

The Communist smirked as he travelled down the left side of the hall, then vanished.

_Was that supposed to be a threat?_

James shook his head, shivered.

At mercy to the system, yes, by nature, but he still refused to use the word _Nazi_ as a way to describe himself.

He wouldn’t do it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> James is really rather pathetic, or worse than that. The level of sympathy you hold for him is down to you, the audience after all!
> 
> Next chapter is a little bit more upbeat, Ancap gets to meet his new friends again as they discuss what life as a Libright is like.


	9. Second Impressions

Ancap was the last one to enter the classroom. 

He was already overwhelmed. The colours. The beauty. So many of them had shiny suits which must have come some of the finest stores, the kind of stores that Ancap would have never even seen before. He was already showing himself up, just casually wearing parts of his old uniform mixed with what could be called ‘basic work clothes’ where he was living. 

The Socialists were never one for standing out, most of what they designed were browns, greys, sometimes red. So little would be any level of fancy. However, these guys were doing anything to outclass one another. 

The classroom itself wasn’t exactly decked out in glitter. Sure, it looked nicer, glossier than the areas of the school he had seen before, and those curtains surely looked like real satin, but all that fancy clothing still seemed out of place.

Although it was likely just Ancap being jealous, he wanted badly to compete in this weird fashion show that he was witnessing! 

Even lingering outside of the door, he was still excited for this business class. One taught by LibRights, especially so. The business skills he’ll need to have the independence he needs hopefully! If only he had the guts to just walk into class.

“Hey, can you come in please?”

Ancap heard a voice, not one coming from the teacher. It had sounded like one of the other students. He had been noticed!

The voice sounded friendly, at least, not judgemental. Ancap didn’t think that whoever was calling him was trying to criticize him for his lacklustre outfit at least.

Ancap replied sheepishly, “Yes. I’ll just be there.” 

As he came out of the doorway, he stared at the class of students. There were far more LibRights here at the school than he had first expected. Some of them had to be new too, right? Maybe they would understand.

As his eyes peered around the room, he noticed two familiar faces: Minarchist and Hoppean.

The two people he had run away from.

_ I bet they run away too… they didn’t like sharing so much with a ‘fake’ Ancap. _

They were discussing something amongst themselves, though it seemed like the teacher ignored their nattering. Ancap wondered that, in their distraction, they hadn’t noticed poor Ancap either.

Minarchist was also keeping some kind of large box, completely clear, probably almost as expensive as his fancy light blue suit. 

_ Wish I could have that suit. _

Trying not to look at the two of them for too long. He attempted to look around for the person who had called his name earlier. At the far back of the room, Ancap spotted someone in a large black top hat. He was the only person who was sitting in the direction that the voice had come from. 

He was also close to what looked to be some of the last seats available in the class. As he wandered across the class, he noticed even more traits that made it stand out. 

The floor felt like marble, checkerboard in design and the chairs each made of a fine redwood. The department must have gotten money from somewhere. 

Ancap didn’t belong in this classroom, let alone among all these rich people. 

He thought everyone was watching him as he went to sit down. He imagined how many of them were commenting on him in their brains. Calling him ‘raggedy’ or ‘a mess’. At least they were polite about it, not even telling him. 

Without paying much attention to the people around him, Ancap was finally in his seat. Well, he did look for a brief second at the guy who had called him to come in. He could see much more clearly now, his face which had once been crowded with the hat. 

He seemed like a lighter yellow than Ancap was, like a pale yellow. Not one which seemed like it was distressed though, he just seemed to be that light colour naturally. He was probably less of an extremist than Ancap was… was he, a Libertarian?

Before getting a closer look, he noticed a sparkling light blue suit enter the side of his vision, directly in front of him was Minarchist! From this angle, he could also see Hoppean’s wings clipped behind him in some kind of metal cast, a wing cast? 

“Hey, are you alright there?” 

Ancap jolted his eyes away from those LibRights and looked back to the Libertarian next to him. 

“Uh, well, yeah.”

“Sorry, I just got a bit concerned when I saw ya loitering around outside.”

“You were? Sounds a bit much being concerned for a stranger like me.”

Ancap heard the teacher starting to discuss something, they were again, unbothered by the apparent numerous amount of conversations that were still occurring in class. These were Libertarians, you couldn’t expect them to listen if they didn’t want to!

“Uh, well, it’s not that, I was actually deliberating whether I was gonna go to class myself!”

“You were?” Ancap tilted his head.

“Ah, I feel kind of new to this, neither of my parents were Libertarians you see, so it’s a bit weird. I’m sure I’ll get used to it eventually, what about you?”

“I’m, well, I’m new too.” Ancap didn’t want to look at Minarchist in front of him. Just focus on Libertarian.

“You are! Same quadrant? Different quadrant? Were you with neoliberals?” Libertarian chuckled.

“Uh, well different quadrant actually.” 

Ancap leaned over slightly and started tapping his desk.

“Huh? That must be quite a change, I used to live with classical liberals myself, not too different, but we did find many disagreements, nevertheless. Tell me, where did you come from? Was it a reason why you were so nervous?”

“Me, so nervous?” 

Ancap mulled over whether revealing his former Socialism would cause this new person distress too. He didn’t want to run away this time, in the middle of a classroom, and the Libertarian likely wouldn’t run away either. The question was, how much did he trust someone he just met? He seemed, friendly and in the same position as Ancap, sort of… 

But last time he revealed it out loud he… 

Before Ancap even had the chance to consider anything, he heard Minarchist’s chair turn and Minarchist himself was staring straight at him.

“Oh, hey, you’re Ancap, well, that Ancap, the one I met yesterday! That hot chocolate was good, right? Not the best, but still good.” 

Minarchist sounded, so friendly as if nothing had even happened? Regardless, Ancap still anticipated some kind of attack. “Good, it was good?”

“Say, our meeting was cut kinda short, wasn’t it?” 

“Well… yes?”

“Ummm, I mean.” Minarchist ruffled his hair. “I just wanna say that I’m sorry for reacting like that! I was just shocked, and then you fled, and we never got to talk about it! Man, being a Socialist must suck, I can’t imagine what living there would be like!”

“I know, right!” Ancap screeched in response.

One of the desks squeaked as Libertarian leaned forward and tapped Ancap. “So, you were living in the AuthLeft quadrant, were you? No wonder you were kinda quiet.”

Ancap laughed nervously. “Y-yeah, I was…”

“Must be quite a change. How have you been handling it so far?”

Ancap watched the two other Ideologies “To be perfectly honest, it has been, sort of tough.”

“Like, what kinda tough? Did you get kicked out your home?” Minarchist questioned.

“No, no, I got to stay at home and - ”

“Oh thank goodness, at least you have a place to stay!” 

“You know, I don’t think my parents would have kept me around if I had become an AuthLeft, how interesting,” the Libertarian said.

“It’s not my old family that’s been the problem.”

“Then what was the problem?” Libertarian asked. “Normally it’s almost always the family.”

“Oh, I mean, uh, let’s just say that ‘The Navigator’ didn’t like me very much and because of that, and I kind of struggled to even accept it.”

“So, you’re saying the problem, is you?” As Minarchist leaned forward, his twinkling suit catching the lights.

“Didn’t you see me, Minarchist? I was terrified! I thought I was evil!”

“Well, you thought, but, what do you think now?” Libertarian smiled.

“I’m not evil, now I know that but, I’m not as good as the real LibRights, you know?” Ancap tapped his desk. “I don’t even fit in here, in this room, I’m not going to fit in Ancapistan or… wherever the Libertarians like to live.”

“Wait, is that all? You feel like a failure ‘cause you weren’t born in Ancapistan?”

“Hey! What do you think the whole point of this anyway? News flash – Ancap – nobody is really ‘born’ as any Ideology, we’re all colourless for a reason when we’re born. Some people just don’t belong where they live at first. Hell, it’s only the lucky ones that do. I’m a pretty lucky soul, everything considered.” Minarchist was obviously paying no attention to the class, drawing his hand out to try and get Ancap to shake it. 

Ancap understood what Minarchist was saying, and it did make him feel a little better, but something like this was easy to say when you were dressed like that, living in a place that suited you. Minarchist never had to worry about fitting him, ‘the Navigator’ brought him no turmoil. Ancap wanted to bet that Minarchist’s time in ‘The Navigator’ was something that barely felt like minutes. He probably wouldn’t understand what it felt like to have everything you thought you knew ripped apart like that! 

And then after you started to accept yourself, it started to feel unreachable again. 

Ancap shook Minarchist’s hand before letting go of it, leaving it hanging in the air. 

“I know, I know, I get that, and it’s not like I don’t want to be here, I do, I’m excited to be an Anarcho-Capitalist. But, I still don’t think I’m… going to adapt well, I mean, look at me, I don’t belong here. People are going to think I’m a fake Ancap.”

“Woah there,” said Libertarian.

“You’re not fake, look, everyone can see you are a LibRight, everyone can tell what you believe in, you can’t fake which colour you glow.”

Ancap mumbled. “No, no. It’s much more simple than that.”

“Simpler?”

“Maybe he’s jealous of my hat,” Libertarian joked.

“You’re not too far off, Libertarian.”

Libertarian huffed in a way that sounded like a small laugh.

“I mean, look at you, Minarchist, you have so many nice things, I barely have any nice things. Imagine an Ancap who looked like this, such drab clothes, no induvial pride!”

“This is really about your clothing? Hmmm.”

Hoppean was still writing, or so Ancap thought. Hoppean could have been doing anything. Probably eavesdropping.

“You can always get new clothes, you know,” Libertarian suggested. 

“Hey, Ancap, I have a great idea! You haven’t seen Ancapistan yet, and I know you really want to see it, soooo, why don’t you come with us? We could all buy new suits, it’ll be fun,” Minarchist said. 

“Me? Go to Ancapistan, wait- really?! When?”

It was almost as if all the worry was washed away from Ancap. It was as if the mere suggestion of going to Ancapistan was good enough to make this better. For a few seconds, he was able to dream away the reality of his situation…

The fact that he was poor.

“We can even go this evening if you like. Straight after school is done.”

“Ahhh, so soon?”

“Ya see, I got a car from my parents for getting my colour and…”

“And you crashed it, already!” Hoppean carefully turned his body. His dark, tired eyes glaring daggers the three of them. “God, you’re such an awful driver.”

He had to move his wings out of the way carefully, with his own hands. 

It was also the first time that he had seen what Hoppean was actually wearing. Hoppean, in fact, wasn’t wearing a suit at all, he was wearing pyjamas. Black pyjamas patterned with skulls. He had cut two large slits at the back so that his new pair of wings could poke out of them. Behind Hoppean was also another coffee cup? Typical. 

Ancap didn’t know if he felt relieved or intimidated. Even those pyjamas looked very expensive. Cuts like that would have made any cheaply made clothing fall to pieces. 

“Crashing is a bit of a strong word.”

“It went straight into that stop sign.” 

“The car still works, I got it out of there.”

“Yeah, yeah.” After Hoppean was done berating Minarchist, he looked to Ancap. “So it’s you again, quick to flee, aren’t you?”

“Q-quick to flee?” Ancap thought that was an odd thing to say, but nevertheless was made to feel nervous.

“Yeah, it’s like you really wanted to get on that train, huh, how sad.”

“Sad?”

“Sad you take the train.”

“Oh, sadder than sitting in a beat-up car but someone you claim is an awful driver?”

Hoppean’s eyes shimmered. “Yes.”

_ No, no, don’t fight them. Just think about… _

“You know, as an Ancap, you really can do better than a train run by centrists.”

“But! I am forced to live with socialists. I know I can’t live up to the stereotypes of a super-rich Ancap, but one day I will just let me and…”

Hoppean interrupted. “That’s the thing, Ancaps are super-rich for a reason. You know it’s not just your colour, your embodied Ideology that you get, right? Ideologies have powers, small things most of the time, that’s why people think of them as stereotypes.” Hoppean’s face grew sour. “Ugh, I wish I had some small power. It’s going to take years of fucking physiotherapy to get these things to fly.”

_ Those wings really are grotesque.  _

“He’s right, you know.” Libertarian poked at Ancap’s desk, it wobbled.

“Well, I wouldn’t have invited you if I didn’t know you had that uncanny knack for finding cash!” Minarchist said.

“What do you mean? I don’t find any money, let alone find it easily.”

“You weren’t an Ancap before, you’ve only been an Ancap for a day. Why don’t you try it?” Hoppean sounded scornful.

“How do I try it? It’s not like I own a business. Or even, could own one being where I am.”

Minarchist hummed. “Well, you see, not all Ancap money is earned, when I say finding cash sometimes finding is much more literal than you think. I suggest that you try searching. Anywhere, even your own home.”

“Oh, come on! Now you’re just making stuff up.”

Ancap wanted to ask them to leave him out of whatever trip to Ancapistan they were having, he’d just be a dead weight considering he had so much more to learn and so much more to change about himself. He couldn’t do it, though. Not even for his own good.

“I’m so totally not. When I said I was being literal, I was being literal. Trust me on this one, Ancap. In fact, I trust me so much I’m going to have you head back to your house before you come with us, that way you can search for money, which you will find.”

Hoppean tipped his head towards his friend. “He’s right, you know, in fact, I’ll bet on it!”

“Like the bet our parents made?” Minarchist raised his eyebrows. 

“Exactly!”

“I can’t believe they’d thought I would be Hoppean…”

A bet with their parents? More Libright talk that Ancap didn’t understand, not yet anyway.

“So you two are planning a trip to Ancapistan, huh? You know I could do with a trip myself. I got some stuff to get.” Libertarian straightened his jacket and leant closely towards Minarchist. 

“Totally, the more, the merrier.”

“Sweet.”

Hoppean seemed a little put-off by the sudden intrusion but didn’t say anything to either of them. 

Ancap looked at Libertarian, he seemed, fair, Ancap wouldn’t be uncomfortable with him accompanying them. 

If he accepted Hoppean’s offer, his bet, then he’ll get to see where he belonged, for real, this very day! His parents must have had some currency laying around the house, so maybe he could pretend to have this magical money finding ability that Ancaps were supposed to have. 

That meant he would also have to see Minarchist, Hoppean and Libertarian go on an awesome shopping trip without him but anything, anything to go at Ancapistan. It was becoming his obsession, a sharp contrast of his dreary leftist living conditions – like his one desire.

“So is the bet on or not?” Hoppean looked at Ancap and then back to Minarchist with a greedy expression. 

“Well, if I’m betting on the Ancap not finding any money then I’ll automatically lose.”

“What are you, Minarchist? A chicken?” Hoppean snorted. He was the one with bird wings.

“I’m not going to bet on something I’m obviously gonna lose.”

“Fine, suit yourself. What about you, Ancap? You’re the one with no faith in yourself, what if you were to take the bet?” Hoppean turned his head, in a way that Ancap could only guess was his way of trying to appear more friendly. 

“The that I… wouldn’t find any money?”

“You got it.” 

If Ancap won the bet, then he would at least have money where he had none before. It was almost like a win-win for him. Even if Hoppean himself was deeply sure that he would be able to find the money. “Okay, I’ll make a bet.” Ancap smiled contently.

“Let’s say, $50, no wait, $100.”

_ $100. That sure is a lot for a stupid bet.  _

“Deal.”

“I guess you have the guts of an Ancap, after all, I’m impressed.”

Minarchist shook, immediately turning behind him to tend to that large box that Ancap had seen him with earlier. Ancap bet that the box, let along whatever was in it, cost more than the house he lived in.

“Aah, Stompy!”

“Stompy?”

“Minarchist’s snake,” Hoppean informed.

“You have a pet snake, Minarchist?”

Minarchist emerged with a brown and beige snake wrapped around his arm, it was wearing a little top hat. Its head was resting all comfy on one of Minarchist’s fingers, firing out its tiny tongue periodically. 

“This is Stompy, my future financial advisor. He hasn’t spoken yet, but I’m sure he’ll say his first words soon, maybe even today.”

“First words? But it’s a snake!”

“Well, you’ve never met a Libertopia snake.” 

Libertarian’s hand moved forward as he went to pet the little snake’s head. “This one is gonna be smart, I can tell.” 

“You don’t have animal guides where you’re from, Ancap? Wow, it must be so boring in the west.”

Ancap blinked. “Sometimes, the roses in the garden tried to talk but the animals? They never.”

“You know, almost everywhere has talking animals, Ancap.” Libertarian was still patting the head of the small snake, who lifted itself upward, attentive to him. “Libertopia breeds these little fellas, and then they go all around the quadrant.”

Minarchist laughed cheerfully. “He likes you, Libertarian, look at how perky he’s gotten.” 

As Libertarian drew his hand away, the little snake turned toward Minarchist with its black eyes bright and shining. It opened its tiny mouth and muttered the words “Stock market.”

Minarchist squealed with joy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stompy is best snake, what a good economist!  
> The next chapter features Ancom and Mutualist as Ancom uncovers what is causing him to jolt out of reality. It is more concerning than qui expects.


	10. Breakdown

The anarchists weren’t really learning anything. The class was honestly, just kinda vibing and that was just how they wanted it. 

The class had just sorta decided to discuss Battle Cats because they wanted to. 

The space full of bean bags and coloured walls, it seemed like the place was more adapt for casually discussing a book series than teaching. 

It was surprising how popular this series of books were seemingly amongst all the quadrants. Not equally though, considering even the much older person who had been sent to educate the Anarchists had also heard of the series.

Ancom had two theories as to why the books had got so popular. One was that it spoke to some deeply held systematic issues within the set-up the World of Ideas had created for living Ideological beings. The second was that youngsters who grew up surrounded by politics were naturally attracted to fake politics. 

This topic had also allowed the anarchists to move past the fact there was arguably a goddamn fascist in the room and Mutualist’s… condition.

Ancom’s class was an exciting bunch, qui was ready to meet almost all of them and make them into cuius friends. Even if they were a bit strange to a simple Ancom like quemselves. 

Anarcho-Pacificist, who mostly went by ‘Anpac’ was one of those who had been recently abandoned by his commune as a whole. Which was horrifying to Ancom. The idea that an entire commune would abandon another anarchist, one so pure of heart, for such a reason! 

Anpac had originally belonged to a commune with only one type of Anarchist living there – Insurrectionary Anarchists. One of those Ideologies that kind of existed in a grey area, some not even considering it a real Ideology. Yes, there were still Anarchists, it wasn’t as if they were void of belief. Still, there was always the assumption that this Ideology was given to people who just wanted to smash things up or had anger issues. Anpac was an almost total contrast to that, even when he was abandoned, he held no anger.

He did have a good cry about it, though. Anpac had sobbed in the arms of Ancom and Anqueer. Ancom was happy to oblige. Qui couldn’t feel worse for him. 

Who Ancom could feel worse for, was Anfash. Ancom couldn’t even look in his direction. 

An Anarchist? And a Fascist? How could such a thing even be created?

The so-called Anfash had taken on an awkward teal shade indicating how he had some kind of link between the AuthRight area and the LibLeft one. Ancom wasn’t sure where Anfash had lived before, he hadn’t said. Someone like this could have come from anywhere though, it was best not to probe into it too much.

He, like Anpac, had also been ditched by whoever was taking care of him before, whether it be his family or his entire community. But this time, Ancom thought he kind of deserved it. Being an Anarchist quemselves, qui couldn’t imagine, under any circumstances, accepting anybody with an inch of fascism within them into cuius commune. 

Anpac was now also forced to share a room with Anfash in an area which Anpac described as ‘dorms above the school’. Even though Anarcho-Pacifist was, of course, a pacifist, Ancom knew that qui would be the one hitting that Anfash around the face because he dares share the same space as quem.

Another one of Ancom’s classmates was Mutualist.

The last time Ancom (and the others) had seen Mutualist he was flashing bright orange, sickly and asking to go the medical room with the weirdly distressed LibRight. 

He didn’t look that much better a day later. Ancom could tell that he was trying to listen but wasn’t doing very well, lost in deep discomfort. 

Ancom, between trying to comfort the pacifist, had managed to ask Mutualist what was wrong. His reply was kinda worrying: “I keep hearing ‘The Navigator.” Was all he said without any elaboration.

Questioning what was going on inside Mutualist’s mind was at least distracting Ancom from the fight that qui had had with Commie.

Ancom had still felt a twinge of happiness inside qui when qui had found out that quem and Commie could still have classes together even if they didn’t belong together anymore. But now Ancom could find better comrades rather than one with a… history of ruining all the anarchist communes.

These would be cuius new comrades, and even though qui had just met them, Ancom felt ready to protect them. (Barring Anfash obviously, but qui would fight him.)

Qui was sure that, in the long term, qui wouldn’t really need to have Commie by cuius side anymore. Ancom would be cuius own Ancom. Qui could even push away that happiness that qui got from the friendship in the past.

This is what Ancom wanted, what qui had been working towards cuius whole life. 

Anfash was sketching something on the large whiteboard with a teal-coloured marker pen. The Adjective-less Anarchist educator was standing by him. Even from the back of the class, Ancom could hear the pen screeching. Qui could only hope that he was making a Battle Cats OC and not writing something racist. Like Ancom would want to hear about a fucking fascist’s views on Battle Cats anyway. 

Anqueer was now how having a cheerful conversation with Anpac who was trying to smile again. He was giggling with Anqueer about something, maybe Battle Cats, maybe something else. It was making Anpac feel a little better in a way Ancom hadn’t managed to, which qui appreciated. 

Mutualist was still sitting alone though, staring into space and occasionally blinking. His bright orange colour, flashing and jittering. Sometimes qui could see two of them sitting there. Qui still wanted to ask him more questions even if he didn’t seem to want to talk to Ancom. 

Ancom’s eyes flashed back to the clock – it was going to be lunch soon. 

_ How typical! The Anarchist weren’t able to eat whenever they wanted? Anarchists shouldn’t have to keep to timetables. _

Ancom watched Mutualist, not too closely, he probably didn’t want someone watching him. Anfash was still drawing something on the board. It was clear that he didn’t want to return to his seat. Anfash already clearly didn’t like any of the other Anarchists. Qui was getting slightly worried that Anfash would explode with anger or strike against the rest of them at some point. But they would all be ready. 

The Adjective-less Anarchistt kept trying to peer at what Anfash was trying to write, but Anfash kept pushing her away, even with his tiny body. Ancom wondered what kind of powers would even manifest in an ‘Anfash’. Blegh. Something horrific for sure. 

_ 5 _

_ 4 _

_ 3 _

_ 2 _

_ 1 _

_ Ri-Ringggg. _

A distant ring, it was the same bell that unleashed its sound wave across the whole school. Back when qui was in the middle of the school, the noise could blow your eardrums out. Here the bell was muffled as if these distant areas were places where the light did not touch. 

Anfash slammed down the pen as soon as the bell caught his ears. The writing he had left there, just the scrawlings of a mad man. The board markers digging so far into the whiteboard itself that it was enough to pierce it. Was it a manifesto? Adjective-less Anarchist was already busy scrubbing it off before Ancom could read any of it. 

Ancom’s eyes followed Anfash as he darted off, he took a quick look at qui before running out of the room. Fear or malice?

Nevertheless, Anfash wasn’t Ancom’s concern, now Mutualist was. Qui attempted to carefully follow him out. 

-

Despite the school being split up to prevent opposing Ideologies from meeting each other, the canteen was still the same old school canteen. 

It was bleak, inoffensive, white coloured walls with gloopy paint, fake wooden flooring and lighting that always flickered in and out. As many of the school’s hallways and rooms, the canteen’s actual lighting were from its open windows, with the four colours from the four corners of the World of Ideas that would gently bounce off each of the walls just enough for you to see them.

The students were left to sort themselves out. Which was easy, the people from each quadrant stuck to their own quadrant and chose not to mix with the others. Those who were, for whatever reason, didn’t belong to a quadrant languished at the bottom of the room – some even sat on the floor. 

Wackies were strange, some of them appeared deserving of aid but of course, not all of them. Some wackies held Ideologies that were even darker than those in the AuthRight quadrant. 

For a school canteen, there was a wide array of food available for selection. The school had to cater to all sorts of Ideologies, even ones which worked within specific cultures, everyone had to be accounted for, even if it pissed off certain  _ other  _ Ideologies.

Anpac was next to Anqueer, the two of them getting along well. 

Mutualist came and sat next to Ancom, the two of them were on the opposite side of the table to Anpac and Anqueer. 

“Hm, hey again Ancom,” Mutualist said, his fork wavering in the air unsteady. He seemed desperate not drop it.

“Oh! Hi, Mutualist! You don’t look at all better.”

“I know, I get it.” Mutualist dropped the fork, admitting defeat.

“I dunno, when you spoke to me you sounded so weird, I don’t even think ‘The Navigator’ spoke to me.”

“Wow… you’re so lucky.” Mutualist jolted and then slammed his palm on his forehead.

“Are you in pain?” Ancom asked.

“I’m not sure if pain is the right word…”

Out of the corner of cuius eye, qui noticed Anfash coming to sit on the table with the rest of them. 

Ancom’s head snapped back around. “Hey shouldn’t you be sitting with the other fucking fascists!” qui spat.

“But I’m not just a fascist, I’m in a class with you, aren’t I? Isn’t that enough.”

“Oh come on! Just look at yourself. You don’t even need to tell us that you don’t belong here.” 

“I’m an Anarchist, and I know that I’m Anarchist. I don’t need you to tell me.”

Mutualist shuffled uncomfortably as he looked to be jolting out of reality again. He wasn’t amused by the argument that the two of them were having. 

“Actually, I do think I need to tell you because clearly, you don’t understand. What? Are you in denial? We don’t accept your imposed hierarchy here.”

“Since when have I imposed anything so far?” Anfash stuffed past of a sandwich in his mouth.

“Stop pushing away the obvious, I know you’re a racist, no point in hiding it.”

Anfash gulped and then hiccupped slightly. “I’m not hiding anything. All you’re doing is making assumptions.”

“We’re Ideologies! Assumptions are absolutely the point!” 

“Hey, hey, can you be a little quieter, please?” Mutualist said, his hand pressed against his head.

“Ugh, well, I haven’t done anything racist yet, have I? Why do you have to push this on me so much, God.” Anfash’s voice was whiny.

Ancom growled. “I have to confront you now, so I can’t see you get away with…”

“Oh how overzealous of you.” Anfash rolled his eyes.

“What’s the point of existing if I’m not?” 

Mutualist interrupted, “I think we have a point of existing, Ancom, like, beyond promoting our ideas. Like worth as people, right?”

Ancom went quiet for a few moments, what Mutualist had just said to quem splitting cuius brain in two, metaphorically speaking. 

Anfash was busy sipping some water and glaring at the two Ideologies who were opposite to him. Compared to Mutualist and Ancom, Anfash had at least managed to eat some of what was on his plate. Ancom felt too tense to eat, and Mutualist couldn’t even hold a fork. 

The strange hybrid Ideology placed his water bottle back on the table with a ‘thud’ clearly loud enough for the other two to notice. 

“Worth as people, well, I guess you’re right, Mutualist. But, still, I have a duty to fulfil, don’t I?” 

As qui kept looking at Anfash, cuius pulse-quickening, qui started to wonder, if the fact that qui had spent less time in ‘The Navigator’ had made quem more in tune with cuius Ideological impulses, considering qui was already proud of how close to a perfect Ancom before qui even entered ‘The Navigator’s’ processing. 

Ancom wondered what a difficult experience with it would actually form as, how would it express itself? Denial? Resistance? 

Although, imagining what Anfash might have been through for him to be sitting here didn’t actually make Ancom any more sympathetic towards him. Fascists should probably realise what they really are instead of pretending to get along. Qui wanted to guess that Anfash was one of those still entrenched in denial and denial couldn’t be cured unless one was forced to think hard enough for them to come to a painful shock of reality. 

If Ancom could bring that realisation earlier, then qui would. Then Anfash could fuck right off to Fash town where he belonged.

“Ugh, duty, fulfil?” Mutualist sounded tired; he had likely given up on actually eating his food.

“Yeah, totally, you don’t see it that way? Are there really Ideologies who don’t? If we didn’t, wouldn’t we just be acting like humans?”

Mutualist jolted back in disgust from the suggestion that he was trying to emulate humans with his apathy. 

“No, no, but we’re supposed to live life too aren’t we – owww.” Mutualist nearly collapsed onto his left side. Ancom moved cuius hand over to reach him and shook him.

“Hey, Mutualist! Mutualist! Are you okay!” As a wave of panic hit quem, qui no longer cared about the fascist in their midst. Qui remembered what qui actually needed to do.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good, I just, I heard them again, I heard them in my own voice, I’m confused, I’m sorry.”

“No need to be sorry, just explain it, okay?”

Ancom heard the sound of the table jolting as Anfash got up. Qui was unsure if he had just finished his food or if he was leaving because looking at someone in pain made him feel disgusted (like a typical fascist). The light green reflection bouncing off the wall merged with him for a few seconds. He looked more like an actual Ancom, probably closer to how he wanted to look to the eyes of everyone else. 

“It’s hard to explain, I already told you what happened anyway, I don’t know what else you can do anyway, this seems beyond the reaches of just one Ideology.”

“I thought we were extremists! I thought we believed in doing everything we could! Come on, Mutualist, with enough passion we can do anything, can’t we?”

Mutualist lifted his head and picked up his arm before letting it drop onto the table. With a swish of his arm, he pushed away the tray with his food on it. “That’s sure optimistic of you, Ancom, is this something else tied to your duty or whatever?”

“So, what if it is? You seem to be complaining about this a lot, I’m just trying to help!”

“It’s not you – I think it’s me, yeah, for sure it’s me – it’s like I feel something crawl along my back whenever someone sounds happy to be an Ideology at all. It’s like even the concept feels weird to me. It’s been something I’ve been thinking about since yesterday, even before I took the test. I wasn’t scared about what I would end up as I was pretty sure of my beliefs and that never got in my way. Perhaps I was just scared of the test itself, but it didn’t go away. Even when I became an Ideology… like this… something about it felt wrong, and it wasn’t the fact I was a Mutualist or even the fact I started jolting out of reality after that. It was the fact I changed. Do you know how much they break you down inside of there, Ancom, did you feel it? I want to guess you didn’t.” Mutualist sighed heavily, all that discussion clearly had drained him. 

Ancom tried to think back. Ideology’ biology’ was weird and not something that qui liked to think about. Qui knew that, to a degree, Ideologies with their colours and abilities were physically different from young Ideologies who were colourless. Young Ideologies consisted less of ‘ideas’ and more of the physical, they were more in tune with their ‘real’ bodies. It was why they left behind a corpse if they died, whereas coloured Ideologies slowly drifted away as energy, living on as thoughts in the World of Ideas itself. 

Back when qui was in ‘The Navigator’ qui didn’t feel a thing. To quem, it started and ended, and that was it. Ancom was aware that cuius body had changed but to what extent qui hadn’t learnt or cared to learn. Anyway, it was nothing to be scared of, and qui certainly wasn’t scared.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s true, I didn’t feel a thing, thought it was no big deal. Why was it a big deal to you?”

“For reasons that are kinda private. Though I’m shocked at… other people almost. Other Ideologies. Not being scared of their bodies being broken apart, being stripped away to its essential systems, until, bit by bit it is put back together – stitched back together as the image that ‘The Navigator’ wants you to be. I’m a Mutualist, physically, and if I ever think anything different, I’d get punished for it by my own existence. Is this is too much for you, Ancom?” His head fell into his palms, Ancom noticed the dark circles under Mutualist’s eyes from this angle, despite the bright orange glow that was shining from him.

“It’s not. I just thought it was part of becoming an Ideology. I like being an Ancom. I really wish that all the others would like it the Ideology that they are too. Seeing everyone suffering because of this when I’m not. I should be aware of my privilege. It’s a kind of privilege that’s rarely discussed.”

Mutualist nodded. “I guess. That’s good of you, Ancom.”

“I’m glad you think so, poor Mutualist!”

The orange Ideology smiled. Ancom’s head full of so many racing thoughts, qui couldn’t have eaten. 

“You know, Ancom, it is kinda private, but you’ll at least be someone who might listen. You really hate authoritarians, right?”

Ancom paused for a second, the Commie entered cuius mind’s eye for a split second and then vanished. 

“Well duh, Authoritarians suck! All them… clearly dangerous.”

“I knew that you would say that.” Mutualist sighed again, but this time he sounded less tired and more relieved. “Why don’t you meet me in the recess area, I want to go somewhere quiet where nobody else can see us. But, I can tell you what’s going on with me.”

Mutualist stood up and moved away before Ancom could reply, but qui knew where he was going. 

-

In a space where the roof of the lower level of the building created ample shade, where it was dark, seemingly eternally, was where Ancom and Mutualist met.

Even in the afternoon, the air was cold to Ancom, qui was glad; qui looked so good in this hoodie so that qui wouldn’t have to take it off. 

Mutualist had collapsed half of his body onto the wall, his shoulders turned back, it appeared that only his feet were really touching the ground. Ancom stood right in front of him. Qui looked up at Mutualist now realising cuius height, qui was always aware that he was short. Still, qui had never really thought about it before, qui was probably one of the shortest of cuius class, including the other Anarchists.

Ancom also started to draw comparisons between quemself and Mutualist. Qui trusted Mutualist in mentioning that he had no doubts about his Ideological background, but he didn’t look like any Anarchist that Ancom actually knew and qui had been among Anarchists all cuius life. Mutualist was so well put together.

His light coloured suit reflected his rich orange glow, without the glow there Ancom would have guessed the colour of the suit was perhaps beige? Mutualist’s colour was surprisingly bright for someone who seemed to have so much inner turmoil. His hair was fairly neat too, combed smoothy. By comparison, Ancom, cuius other commune members, heck, even that weird Anfash guy had some aspect of messiness to their appearance. 

Ancom’s hair was largely unbrushed (in cuius mind, it looked better that way) and qui had been wearing the same hoodie for days on end. Anqueer’s hair was half dyed bright pink, and Anfash had that odd skull aesthetic going on. You’d almost guess that by appearance alone, Mutualist didn’t look like any kind of Anarchist. But Ancom knew who he was, qui knew that he was a good person.

“This where you wanted to go?” Ancom asked.

“Exactly where I wanted to go. Can you come closer Ancom? I need to whisper.”

Ancom nodded. “Alright.”

Ancom inched over toward where Mutualist was standing exactly, realising that qui was barely up to his shoulder. Qui looked up to Mutualist, who had an expression impossible to read. Ancom, in turn, was unsure if qui should smile or frown.

Mutualist spoke softly, “One of my parents, is an Egoist.” 

“An Off-Compass?!”

“Yes, shhh, not so loud.”

“But aren’t your beliefs solely yours? Unless your parent was there to influence you? You don’t live beyond the gate, do you?”

Mutualist shook his head. “I live with the centrists actually, as awkward as it sounds. The thing with Egoists is that they can come and go as they please, they aren’t bothered by social constructs like ‘the gate’.”

Off-Compasses, those weird abnormalities that not only acted unstable but were physically unstable too. Many of them incredibly powerful, they also served as an existential threat to those who were grounded in reality, any other Ideology. 

Nobody knew where they came from, it seemed as if most of them just turned up. ‘The Navigator’ couldn’t create them, although some speculated that bad copies of it might have produced Off-Compass results on accident. 

Luckily, a result which was rarely produced by ‘The Navigator’ but was nevertheless, not unstable nor an existential threat was the Realists. Or ‘Arbiters of Reality’ as some called them. At some point, they had tasked themselves as some kind of group force that they were to protect The World of Ideas from the Off-Compasses. At some point ‘the gate’ was constructed in order to keep them away from the rest of the compass. But, as they put it, ‘their job is not yet done’. 

However, Ancom wasn’t going to go around and rely on Realists if qui had to defend quemselves from an INGSOC or a Darwinist. Qui could take them! 

An Egoist though, Ancom had never thought about those. They were very anti-authority and didn’t appear to be afraid of anything. Qui could only admire them for that, even if it was coming from an Off-Compass, something that was supposed to threaten the core of cuius being. 

“So, you live with a centrist and an Egoist?”

“Kinda, the Egoist would come and go, but they would sometimes live with us for several months on end, I even, went past ‘the gate’ with them a few times, not for long, like a day or two at most. Nevertheless, I kind of took inspiration from all my surroundings.”

‘The gate’ even Ancom could never imagine going there. Qui didn’t even want to think about it. Even if Egoists weren’t exactly scary, the place that they were forced to live in was. 

“Uhhh, this is a big secret and all, but, what has this got to do with the whole jolting out of reality thing?”

_ Had Mutualist actually been an Egoist and I had just not noticed? _

“Thing is, I don’t think ‘The Navigator’ could fully comprehend all of my ideas, I fitted being a Mutualist just enough so it worked that out. But there was still something lingering inside of me that it didn’t understand, that tiny part of me that would have been an Egoist. I am fully an Ideology now, but the machinery as a whole assumes that the test is not complete. So, it has stayed there, kind of softlocked if you will or moving at an extremely slow, extremely confused pace. Likely the latter, from my assessment.”

“’ The Navigator’ is staying there?”

“It’s why I keep hearing it… saying things. I close my eyes, and I can still see it. It’s there when I sleep, and it’s there when I dream. I’m in its systems and yet, still a complete Ideology.”

A chill ran through Ancom. Qui feared being trapped like any good Anarchist did, and Mutualist was trapped inside his own mind. It wasn’t the same as physical confinement, but it brought with it its own distress which made quem shiver. 

Mutualist lowered his head. “I think, I think it’s slowly trying to make me some Off-Compass Ideology, it won’t stop till it’s done. No idea how long that it’ll take before that happens or if it will happen at all. I won’t be ‘well’ until it stops either, I suppose, but, you know, I’ll get used to it.”

“If it happens any time soon, like, any time before you graduate, you wouldn’t be able to be with us anymore, will you.”

Expecting a solemn response, Ancom was surprised to hear a gleeful scoff. “I’ll be an Egoist, you wouldn’t be able to box me in.”

“I-I guess so?” 

Even if becoming an Egoist, an Off-Compass would be the result, Mutualist would be free of his metaphorical chains and if Mutualist was happy with that, then so was Ancom. The right Egoist could still be an ally, qui was sure of it. 

“You seem, content about this.”

“This is your battle, you know, if you’re fine with becoming an Egoist, then you do you!” 

“Hey, thanks.”

Suddenly, there was the sound of footsteps on hard concrete coming from behind Ancom. The kind that would come from steel-reinforced boots. Someone touched cuius shoulder, and the Ancom turned around with a jolt, prepared to attack.

_ You better not had heard that whole thing! _

It was Commie. He had returned to Ancom already.

“Hey, Ancom and uh, other Anarchist.” Commie gestured Mutualist to come over. “I’m coming up with a plan to humiliate a certain Nazi on school grounds.”

“Wait – there’s a Nazi on school grounds?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Christmas Eve Update!!  
> Some more lore reveals in this chapter, the mystery of 'The Navigator' grows ever more troubling. 
> 
> Next chapter features James as he meets an Ideology who calls himself 'Nazbol'.


	11. Uninvited Guests

_Tattered fences blown to pieces, the grass had been unearthed and only left with dirt, dust. The dust filling my nostrils, but I resisted coughing; A show of physical weakness would surely lead to a show of emotional weakness._

_Moving against the wind was hard. It was harsh, rough against the skin._

_Everyone had long since fled. It was just me left._

_It was like I was the only one in the world._

_When I was reminded of my supremacy over the simplistic, it was pure delight._

_Those times were few and far between, the times I had the luxury of my own thoughts._

_It could have been minutes or a few seconds._

_Then, ear-splitting this momentary power would be ruined with a screech by his voice._

_He liked to call be various things, but “failure” seemed to be his favourite._

_Sometimes without explanation, that voice in the sky, an ever-expansive vista of dark blue would scream and take my power from me – my power over this desolate landscape. My power over ‘nothingness’._

_The ashes of a place I had once called home._

_“Who needs home when you have power.”_

_“You don’t deserve power.”_

James awoke. His dreams thankfully shattered. 

The sheets from the bed were wrapped around him - sheets, scratchy, uncomfortable and old. 

He was still wearing his uniform; he must have collapsed onto the bed as soon as he reached the dorm room. He hadn’t slept all night, just stayed awake and mulled over every possibility inside his head. His brain was tired, and his body was even more tired. 

Even though he wanted to go to class, he wanted to be a good student; his body refused his wishes. A living representation of an idea, yes, but still a partly physical being. He still would have to eat, sleep, tend to his body. 

As his eyes opened sleepily, he wondered if he would have been better off without the idea part or the body part. All those kinds of feelings would go away if he was a cloud of ideas. It would have been easy to just exist without a body. He was an Ideology, made to fulfil orders, fight and bolster his influence among the earthly residents.

Why did Ideologies need a body anyway?

If it was mental sacrilege to have him reject being an Ideology in the first place, then could he at least throw away his body? Bodies were so full of unnecessary needs, desires that he didn’t need to have, gross ‘emotions’ that could be purged. 

He could stop being James, that would make things better.

He exited his dreams, his ruminations and rose his head from the pillow. The dorm room that he and Homonationalist had been put in was nothing to behold. It was dull, to say the least. 

All of the furniture, the walls looked dated. Wasn’t he supposed to enjoy dated things? Historical monuments faded sepia photographs representing a better time, that kind of dated. Not this kind of dated, curtains which hadn’t been replaced in years, same with the carpet. Drab, crimson-coloured walls, most of the furniture appeared to be made of the same type of wood, likely oak. There were two beds, both with white sheets and a small drawer to keep things in next to them, along with some assorted, unmatched chairs and a table at the far end of the room. 

Almost everything was dusty, including the plain white bedsheets. Almost as much dust as James could remember in his experience with ‘The Navigator’. He had to rub his eyes of it when he had started to open them. 

Not that James had the right to complain too much, he was already lowly for accepting their help. He had taken their food, safety and even their rooms, resources he should have been able to get for himself. What a pathetic waste of space he was for relying on other people. A real man takes care of himself and his family! They don’t just accept what they…

His mother had always cleaned the house; she was an excellent housewife and hostess. 

‘ _A clean house is a clean mind’_ is something that she used to say to him, and in turn, she helped him clean his own room (well, it was mostly her). James thought back to all his personal possessions and felt a little sick to his stomach. 

_Nostalgia over consumer objects? How meaningless._

He started to feel even sicker, but the thoughts kept coming back, perhaps his parents had thrown his stuff away, or burnt it? Had they destroyed all traces of the son they used to have?

_I’m dead to them._

Whether his family were weak or not, family itself still meant something to him. 

As he rose to sitting, a creek of blue light fluttered from beneath the puce curtains – brightening the weird red hue to the room. It was still daytime, James hadn’t slept forever at least, but that meant he didn’t have an excuse for missing any of his classes. Like he’d be able to lie to the fact of his higher-ups, he knew that he would just take the punishment.

He wasn’t all that tired anymore, and he didn’t want to have any more nightmares but, he would have much rather had slept than had done anything else. His cheap pillow looked so inviting, much more inviting than learning to be a productive member of his future authoritarian society. 

James felt his eyes shutting again until he heard the sound of rattling keys from across the room. 

_Was that really Homonationalist coming back?_

_Was someone trying to break into the room?_

The door busted open a second later; it was, thankfully, it was just Homonationalist. James never thought he’d be so happy to see the face of a gay man. 

Homonationalist slammed the door behind him using his back, holding his keys in his left hand a tray on his right. It was quite an incredible balancing act; he tossed the keys onto James’s bed and placed the tray on a nearby chair. 

“Hey, I got ya something to eat ’cause I thought you were about to miss lunch.”

“Food? For me? Really?”

“I don’t want you to die stupid.”

James stared at the Homonationalist. “I would have got food for myself if I had needed it!”

“No, you wouldn’t have.”

Homonationalist picked up a small bowl on the tray, which was covered in a paper top. “Now are you coming to eat at the table or are you going to stay wrapped up in that cotton cocoon-like that?”

“I said already I’m not hungry! Not hungry for anything you brought me anyway…”

The Homonationalist rolled his eyes. While still carrying the small bowl, he reached over and grabbed one of the chairs. James saw how those pink eyes were full of pity. He must have been so close to physically puking.

“Acting like that isn’t good for your health, you know.” Homonationalist dug his thick nails underneath the paper layer and picked it off. “It’s just some tomato soup.”

“Like I want it now your gay-ass fingers have touched it!”

Homonationalist showed no reaction other than a small smile; he left the bowl of soup on the table next to James. Although he must have come through several corridors and then either lifts or staircases, the soup was still warm. Smoke arose from it, the grey colour curling around the wallpaper and making it appear an even darker colour and exposing its dirt. 

James could only just see the shade of the soup from where he was lying. It didn’t look totally red like he would have expected tomato soup to be, and certainly not any of the soup his grandma or mother would make for him. It was some shade between orange and green like someone had mixed the stems in with the rest of the mixture. Lazily, apathetically put together. How typical of an untamed capitalist system like that the centrists 

He had never been a fan of the school cafeteria food, but now his colour was given him a heightened sense of the way things smelt, a sensitivity to unpleasantries if you will. Things that were clean and things that were unclean. This is soup, without even tasting it, seemed to be on the dislikeable side.

“Ugh stop complaining and keep up your strength. You know you’ve been through some tough shit, haven’t you? At least I have enough sense to take basic care of myself.”

“I’m fine. I don’t need someone to care for me. I can take care of myself.”

“Then, why don’t you?”

“I fucking told you, I’m fine.”

“Geez. I’ll keep the soup there if you need it, but you don’t have to have it.”

“I’m won’t be having it. Thanks.”

“If you say so.”

Leaving James, Homonationalist went over to the mirror on the other side of the room as to the table. The mirror wasn’t full length, more like half-length and even from all way over on one of the beds, James could tell how filthy it was along with the small crack on the upmost corner. Homonationalist seemed pretty fine with using it though.

Pushing back his hair with a comb and pulling some lip-gloss out of his pocket, Homonationalist started to groom and admire his appearance. He had not a single hint of real masculinity inside of him. James wondered what he did to get put in an Authoritarian quadrant. The only thing he had was a weird form of nationalism he didn’t understand as it was beyond all tradition. James didn’t know if the presence of him made him feel worse about the fact he was an extremist or better.

As Homonationalist was adjusting his hat, with James watching him, there was a knock at the door.

And then another knock.

And another, and another, and another. 

“Hellloooo? Hello there, I know who’s in there!” It was a voice that James had never heard before.

Homonationalist jumped. His eyes moved over to the door frame in such a quick response. He let go of his hat, leaving it at a jaunt on his head. With ambled steps, he moved toward the door. The endless knocking continuing until he opened it. 

The reveal? A short purple figure with eyes as wide an owl. His wrist was perpetually stuck in a knocking motion as if he wasn’t expecting the door to open at all. 

“Oh, my goodness. Hello hello. Never thought I’d see a good friend, Homonationalist on this day and even better a Nazi!” He was glowing, his cheeks flush and of some kind of Ideology based joy that made him bright violet.

“Excuse me?” James, so surprised by the intonation in the stranger’s voice, stood up.

“Yes, yes!” 

Getting a closer look at the figure, James took note of his clothing. It seemed like a grotesque mixture of things, of imagery. Some kind of Ushanka like you’d see the communists wearing with a weird symbol on it – something like a hammer and sickle but with small part… off about it. This was matched with a heavy military-like coat, which matched the one James was wearing. The image he had created for himself, or that had been created for him was a juxtaposition.

The purple figure, undeterred by James’s bizarre inspection of him was still grinning eagerly. “Oh wait, I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Nazbol! Or, since we’re friends’ Lil Nazbol.”

“Friends!” James Snapped. “We just met?”

“Aw, you say that like you don’t want friends? Not everyone can be friends with the elusive Lil’ Nazbol you know?” 

“I don’t want to be friends with some random stranger who thinks they can just waltz into my room and pretend he cares about friendship!” 

“Oh come on, aren’t friends good? It’s not like you’re gonna get many other friends as a Nazi like you. Maybe some random stranger is the best you’ll ever do, huh?” Nazbol laughed so loud it overpowered James’s scoff.

Homonationalist was looking at him with a cynical, yet urgent expression. “Why not sit down and talk with us, I’m not sure the Nazi appreciates all this energy.”

“What a shamey shame! But I will sit down as you instruct.”

Nazbol pushed past the two of them and reached the chair that Homonationalist had originally put the soup on. “Sooo what is it you wanted to ask me?”

“First of all, what are you doing here?” Homonationalist asked.

“I came offering my friendship! What’s so wrong with that.”

“Really now?”

Nazbol nodded with the same vigour he had while knocking on the door.

“And also, how did you get here? This isn’t a space that any normal student can reach unless you’re staying here too?”

“I’m not staying here. It’s quite simple how I got here; actually, I followed you!”

“Why in the world would you follow me?” 

Nazbol tipped his head over in James’s direction, his hat nearly falling off his head. “To get to him, of course.”

“To get to me? To me… To me!” James was unable to control his screams.

“Yeah, I wanted to see you, what’s so wrong with that? I was looking for the Commie as well, but I have no idea where he went. But now I have you, and that’s so cool!”

James folded his arms. “So you think it’s cool to stalk people you little worm? Is that what this is about?”

“I’m not stalking anyone. I just found out there was a Nazi in the school and wanted to say hello, are you really that mad at me? Me, the Nazbol? The ‘Lil Nazbol?”

“Gah! And stop calling me that!”

“I’m sorry? Calling you what?” Nazbol blinked. With his huge eyes shut, you could see his freckles which covered his nose.

“Calling me a Nazi… can you, stop doing that… please?”

James was at least partly aware of how weird he looked saying that.

_This wasn’t denial. I just didn’t want the word used._

_This doesn’t mean I’m trying to escape fate or anything._

“Why would I? Is there something you want me to call you instead?”

“Yes, actually,” James said. What exactly he wanted to be called still a mystery to both of them.

“Oh, wow that’s something that I don’t come across often! Most of the Nazis and also Commies for that matter seem pretty happy with what they are, but anything for a friend!”

“I’d like you to call me…” 

There was a long pause in James’s speech. The Nazbol’s anticipation was just growing and growing. He had to go through his mind and quickly think of something, anything to sum up a belief system, all, so he didn’t have to use the word ‘Nazi’. White Identitarian? Did those exist in the World of Ideas? He must have heard it somewhere if it had even come into his mind.

“You can call me… White Identitarian.”

“Ha! What a funny name, but I will fulfil your wishes. Hey, do you mind Idy for short?”

“No.”

“How about just Identitarian then?”

“Fine.”

“Okay! Identitarian it is! So great to be with you, Identitarian, Homonationalist.”

“Now we’ve had introductions, was there any other reason that you came here for, Nazbol?” Homonationalist asked.

“Oh, yes, yes, there is one more thing! One more big thing!” Nazbol got up from the chair, and with his sheer speed, the chair itself fell onto the floor. It made a ‘thump’ that sounded far too loud for something that had fallen onto a soft carpet. 

Nazbol moved his head so that he was looking James – Identitarian straight in the eye. James noticed how he was starting to sweat. He stepped back and almost fell on the bed. Homonationalist managed to step away from the Nazbol but said Nazbol seemed an awful lot less interested in him anyway.

“It can’t be that big, not coming from you.” James turned his face into a scowl.

“How funny of you to judge me, hmmm, well this big big thing isn’t anything to do with me, not really, it’s much more to do with you in fact, Identitarian.”

James was hit with a small brain wave. _Maybe Nazbol is here to tell me that I can retake ‘The Navigator’._ A crazy hope, but he was still desperate deep down.

“No need to be so ominous.”

“Huhhh?” The Nazbol tilted his head again this time it was so much for him to lose his hat, it fell on the floor, revealing his unbrushed and scruffy hair. God, he really didn’t have any dignity.

“Just… tell me why the heck you were so desperate to see me.”

“I really want to invite you.” Nazbol slowly looked over to Homonationalist, then back to James. “I want to invite you to my little town! Our Nazbol town!”

_Thanks but no thanks._ He nearly spat out those words until another idea entered his head. This Nazbol seemed so affectionate and was just accepting James with open arms. Even if Homonationalist had appeared to warm up to some level, but it wasn’t the same as this overly enthusiastic thing…

Maybe a trip away from this place was also warranted if this Nazbol was anywhere close to a place where perhaps James might find himself in the future. He’d surely be forced to leave after graduating, and he needed to go somewhere.

And, oh fuck, he hated to admit it, but this had been the only person who had given him a positive reaction after what had happened to him. Nazbol was an intrusive insect, but at least he was a joyful one who seemed to like James, regardless of his, uh, nature.

_Was this what acceptance felt like?_

“Well, it’s not like I can turn down an invitation,” James replied.

“I know, right! So polite aren’t you? All you Auths are so polite, makes me proud to be one of you, hmmm?”

_One of us, geez._

“Doesn’t matter. When do you want us to visit you?”

Nazbol got out the way of James’s face, turning around – James could see how frayed his jacket was, looked like some hand-me-down rather than something fresh out of the school’s uniform department. Were they really allowing a supposed authoritarian Ideology allowed to go around that messy, with no sense of order? At least he went to pick up the chair he had tipped over, an indication that at least he didn’t live squalor. 

This fucking Nazbol made no sense.

“I was thinking later tonight actually. My family would be overjoyed, so thrilled that I was able to find such great friends, on my first day as a Nazbol of all things!”

_Eww._

What made Nazbol so worthy of a close family when James’s just left him when he became an actual sensible, and coherent Ideology, no matter how gross of an Ideology it was.

Homonationalist chimed in, “Like, you want us to leave today?”

“Why is that an issue or something? Are you up to something? What are you doing? Can I come along too? Nazbol had turned back around; there wasn’t really much of a point to him sitting or standing, he was so short anyway.

“Nope, nothing, we’re here, and we can visit you tonight, sure.” James felt himself blush.

“Yay! I can’t wait to take the train with you, Identitarian, Homonationalist, yay! See you later then.”

“Yes, yes, see you later, the door is there.” 

James pointed his entire fist toward the direction of the doorframe, aggressively, hoping maybe the suddenness of his act would have shocked Nazbol enough to get out immediately.

Oblivious to it, Nazbol walked toward the other end of the room unhurried, resting his hand on the doorhandle, heavily. With a bit more strength, Nazbol would have broken it. He probably wanted to in order to lock us inside with him.

“Hm, so you’re asking me to leave?” He was placing both hands on the door handle now.

“Well, you see, I think we must have class soon, you know what the teachers are like here,” Homonationalist said, stepping in front of James.

“Oh you do? You do you do? I’m sorry. I’ll be out of here.” The doorhandle flung back with a ‘thrump’, and Nazbol started stepping backwards, still facing Homonationalist and James. His eyes twinkled as his body and face faded down the hallway. “See you soon. Find you soon. Love you.”

Homonationalist let out energy-less, “Sure.” And proceeded to shut the door. He let out a sigh of relief when he finally able to shut the door for sure.

James looked up at Homonationalist who burst out laughing. “Are we really going to do this?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“You didn’t even give me a chance to tell him no.”

“Eh, we’re not gonna get many other chances to get out of here for no good reason. We might as well look around, humour him.”

“Well look at you being friendly!” Homonationalist smiled at James, gently, his sparkling lip-gloss matching all of the curves of his mouth beautifully – disgusting.

“Come on, he wasn’t going to leave otherwise, and you know that.”

“You don’t know that.”

There wasn’t a clock in the room, so James tried to glance to Homonationalist’s watch. “Wait – Homonash, do we have class again now?”

“Yup.” Homonationalist moved toward the door and went to open it again. “You better hurry up unless you plan on sleeping through more classes.”

“Yes, of course.” James straightened up his jacket. “Just give me a second, I need to set an example, you know?”

The door opened, and Homonationalist left the room. “Alright, see you in a bit, I guess.” 

James nodded, his head, his eyes, sliding over and back to the soup bowl with its now uncovered lid. 

He wasn’t the kind to pay attention to his own body, he knew it, and it was even worse now he was a full Ideology. He hadn’t tried to think about it but, he had been in pain ever since ‘The Navigator’ had been done with him, whenever a thought of distaste toward his new entity would enter his brain a slight numbing sensation would be felt on his skin. James was the kind to always ignore it like he was going to let a tiny bit of pain affect him, so he forced himself to work through it even if it meant keeping up with the thoughts that were endangering his own existence.

After he had woken up and even used that new name on the Nazbol invader, he had felt a little better, feeling whatever the opposite of pain was anyway. 

The feeling of ‘acceptance’ was that of health: Ideological health.

With this numbing pain, which had come and gone had now seemingly, completely gone, this left everything else. His more physical needs. He had at least rested, curing his need for sleep without his conscious mind even being aware of it. But now the hunger tying a knot in his stomach was filling his mind.

The soup was probably cold by now, but it was food, and it was sitting there. 

Before leaving, even if he would be late yet again, he had to take a sip of that soup. 

Without a spoon, James, or Identitarian drunk the soup by shoving it down his throat. The room temperature liquid splattering his entire face in the process. 

For the most part, it tasted just as ugly as it appeared. Not even smooth. Mixed with some other green vegetable because they were out of tomatoes, bitter. It burnt his throat even though it was cold. 

If it didn’t taste like home, then he didn’t want it.

But his hunger was stated, at least for now. That was enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hm, James might be slightly closer to acceptance, even if it might have been because of an odd Nazbol.
> 
> Next chapter features Ancap's journey to Ancapistan, does he have powers? Find out soon.


	12. From Darkness, Into Light...

There it was.

Money. 

Cold hard cash.

It had been buried under the stairs, exactly where that step had creaked. The step that had always scared Ancap. The fifth step. It had taunted him when he had fallen, now it was his golden ticket.

It was a real load of money too, at least, it was to a newly created Ancap. He hadn’t had time to count it, it was over $100 that was for sure. Probably even more. He hadn’t held all this money in his hands before. It was soft, gentle between his fingers despite the pointed edges. It also smelt… great? Like newly printed paper. He fanned them in front of his face, it was already cold in the house, but he just couldn’t help himself. 

Despite the overly large sum, Ancap still was unsure if this had anything to do with his supposed ‘special Ancap powers’ that Hoppean had spoken of. He still found it more likely that his parents had been hiding this wealth because they were aware of how having too much of it would martyr them even more. The squeaky step which had been forever a mystery had now been solved. It was a hidden stash, a hidden stash of cash.

But to confirm for sure, he would have to ask his parents about the hidden money, and if he did, it was likely that he would have to return it. Then again, if there really was a secret stash of money under the stairs then why hadn’t Ancap found it earlier? If it really was his powers at work, it had perhaps appeared there because of his anticipation at a secret. 

_ That’s ridiculous, right?  _

Either way, he’d have to ask his parents about the money to find out the truth and the more Ancap thought about it, the more awkward it sounded. At least he’d know the truth. If his powers were real or not.

If it was his parent’s money, would he win or lose then bet? 

No matter, looking at the money, even if he wouldn’t have it for long, gave him a burst of serotonin along with the image of either getting to spend it all carelessly or stash it away so it would never be seen again. Both of those possibilities deeply excited Ancap – pictures bouncing through his head. Probably one of those Ideology instinct things. 

He had to be quick either way, Minarchist, Hoppean and Libertarian would be here soon, and they would have to get out of here fast. If he, Ancap, feared going out in public because of his new status, then his companions were probably facing the same thing. 

His friends were so brave for coming into a Socialist village of all places, if they ended up attracting attention, then they would probably get rocks thrown at their car – or worse. 

As Ancap was hunched over, still sitting by the staircase. Panicking for his for his friends was of secondary concern. The television was buzzing in the background was serving as the only light inside the small cottage. His parents were listening to that show where they attempted to set up dates between Centrists and Extremists. The most common excuse they had was something like being ‘unable to find love in their quadrant’ or something, almost all of the attempted matches would end in a disaster. Now he was an extremist too, Ancap very much realized that was not a situation he would ever want to be in. 

He was confined by his imagination, though; he couldn’t get out even if he wanted to. His parents were right there, he could ask them like he had to, but the overwhelming joy of ownership. 

The buzzing of the tv was cut by an even loader roaring sound coming from outside the building. A bright light flashed outside the window, in and out as if it were sending a message in morse code. It seemed to roar again a second later, at a high pitch this time – wait – beeping. 

They were here!

Ancap attempted to shove all the money into one of his tiny blazer jacket pockets. Several notes started to fall out. Every single green strip that fell on the floor dampened Ancap’s mood little by little. He had to pick up every last piece before he went outside – every piece.

“Hey, son, where are you going?” 

Ancap didn’t listen, too busy saving all his money from the fate of the floor.

“Son?” 

He grappled with the last of the notes, nearly falling over onto the ground himself. After struggling, a cheery Ancap turned to face his father. “Uh, yep?”

“Are you going out? This late too?”

“Ugh, Dad, it’s not that late. We’re only going for a little shopping, that’s all, we’ll be back real soon, and I have my phone, I can…” 

“Hey, don’t worry about it, Ancap!”

_ He really did just call me Ancap? _

“D-don’t worry about it?” the yellow Ideology beamed.

“I’m sure you need a break, after all, you’ve been through, I trust you to make it back on time, have fun.”

_ He didn’t even ask about the money? Did he see it?  _ He was just happy that he had called him Ancap and seemed to be giving him his freedom at that too.

“Yes, thank you! Thank you! Thanks!”

Ancap heard the sound of what seemed like beeping from Minarchist’s car again. All the money stashed safety into various pockets, he eyed the door and ran out into the cold.

Beep.

Beep. Beep. 

Despite the extreme sparseness of the lampposts across the darkened town, Minarchist’s car had managed to slam into one of them. There was a large dent right through one of the front lights. It was surprising that it was still functioning. The car seemed to be pretty large, probably much larger than what was needed by a high school student. Ancap didn’t know much about cars, it wasn’t like he saw many different ones, but by a quick assessment, this one seemed like a kind of SUV. Far far bigger than a majority of cars that Ancap had seen that weren’t some kind of truck or lorry. Maybe if he was a lucky Ancap, he’d get to own such a thing one day. 

“Hey, Ancap, is that you? Get in! I hate waiting.” Highlighted only by half a car headlight and a disjointed lamppost – Hoppean poked his head outside the car window. 

Ancap didn’t respond. He saw the car door handle, stepped upward and opened it, revealing the interior. It almost looked like a small house in and of itself. The back had three seats with plenty of legroom and distance and behind that was another row of seats. On the same row, facing the opposite window was Libertarian, wearing his same dapper top hat as he was back at the school.

As Ancap stepped inside, his nose was filled with that ‘new car’ smell that he had ever so rarely encountered but fondly remembered. There was also the distinct smell of leather, probably coming from the seats, as Ancap reached out to touch them their softness was surprising. He must have been the first person to sit on it. Pushing his head back, the chairs almost felt like beds, he could fall asleep like this if he really wanted to.

“Hey there Ancap,” Libertarian said, looking over.

“Oh, hi, Libertarian!” 

Looking in front of him, he noticed what looked to be screens attached to the front seats. This car was equipped with small, in-home cinemas! The screen even looked nicer than Ancap’s home television. 

“Welcome, Ancap!” Minarchist was looking over at both of them from the front seat, visibly not wearing a seatbelt. 

“Yeah, Yeah hi,” Hoppean said, “Now can we please get going, I don’t want to get almost attacked again.”

Minarchist stopped grinning and turned around. “Right, sorry.” 

The car started to rumble as Minarchist pulled away. The tires scraping against the cobbled floor and screeching as Minarchist made it, so the car was moving in a straight line. 

“Are you still wearing that seatbelt?” Minarchist asked Hoppean.

“Well, duh, you drive like you’re batshit!” 

Minarchist giggled. “Oh, come on, am I that batshit that you need to wear that thing like a silly granny?”

“Unlike you, Min, I value my life! Also, it helps keep these wings stable. Do you know how painful falling over with these things are?”

“I know I’ve had to help you up with them.” 

“Then, don’t question it!”

Despite being put-off by the two friends arguing, Ancap was entranced by the screen-looking thing in-front of him. Watching a movie? In a car? He couldn’t pass up the chance to do such a thing.

“Hey, Minarchist, does this uh, thing, uh, play videos?” He asked.

“Hmm, what? That screen thing? Yeah of course?”

Ancap poked the thing, matte, sleek, running like silk along his finger. “How does it work?”

“Well, you uh-” Minarchist turned around again before being cut off. 

The car jolted. 

“We need to get out!” Hoppean spat. “We’re in a Socialist town, remember, a Socialist town, if the place doesn’t try and kill us, the people will, so you better think of an escape route fast. Focus!” 

The car beeped as Minarchist struggled to get a hold of the steering wheel. “We just need to go down this road and…”

“Houses!” 

“Shit!” the car swerved as Minarchist screamed. Libertarian was nearly thrown off the seat he was sitting on. Ancap grabbed his left arm as he was thrown around. 

“This place is a maze, it’s such a shock we found you Ancap.” The car stopped, and Minarchist spoke in an unusually sorrowful tone, “At least it’s late enough now so that there aren’t enough people around to be suspicious, how does it feel still living here?” 

Everything started to move again, and the car trudges down the pathway, rocky but in constant motion. Ancap himself let go of Libertarian’s arm, who still seemed to be his normal cheery self despite the surprise.

“How does it feel?” The in-car cinema was still at the front of Ancap’s mind, not the possible threat to their lives. “I-I don’t know yet. I guess I won’t be leaving the house very much, except for going to school. And uh, wonderful trips to Ancapistan of course!” 

Consistently, the car was moving ahead. The darkness had surrounded all of them, even though it wasn’t that late if Ancap remembered correctly. The cold would have been surrounding them too. Ancap had only felt it outside briefly, what was formerly normal weather to him had now become biting and cruel. Thankfully, Minarchist’s SUV was able to generate amazing heat. Heat that Ancap couldn’t even remember in the summers of his Socialist town. It had to be over 30c. 

“I know it’s going to be wonderful, especially now you and Libertarian are joining us,” Minarchist said. Ancap felt an even greater warmth light inside him.

Realistically, it had only been about twenty minutes, but they had been heading through the town for so long, looking at the similar outlines of each of the houses bobbing in and out of view – in Ancap’s mind it felt like hours. His excitement toward Ancapistan, even weaning a little because of his fears over his own home. He found himself trying to look out of the window, trying to drift off, but he couldn’t, almost as if he was anticipating something to reach out of the shadows and grab them…

“Hey there, Ancap!” as Libertarian attempted to start a conversation, Ancap jumped.

“Libertarian?”

“Yep, that’s me. You wanna chat for a bit?”

Ancap drew himself away from the window and looked at the light-yellow Ideology contently sitting still without a seatbelt. 

“Sure, we can Libertarian.”

“You looking forward to getting some new threads in Ancapistan then? I know the feeling, that place has the best variety of stores.”

Ancap nodded. “Yep.”

“I’m assuming you found the money then?”

Ancap thought about revealing all of the money stashed inside of his blazer as if he was showing off, but then he remembered that he probably shouldn’t show off easily available money to other LibRights, considering they were all as greedy as him. They wouldn’t steal from him and break the NAP obviously, but they all likely knew the right words that would get him to part with it. 

“I did,” he replied simply. 

“Hey, wait you got the money? Knew it!” Hoppean turned around. 

“I did, yes I did!”

“That makes you a true Ancap now, congratulations,” said Hoppean.

_ Real. True. Genuine.  _ He liked those words.

“What about the bet?” Ancap asked.

Hoppean flinched as he grabbed onto the side of the chair. “Oh yeah, you owe me some of that money. You can hand it to me later. I am NOT doing anything important like exchanging currency while this weirdo is driving the car.” Hoppean zipped behind the seat again before Ancap could get another word in. 

Libertarian turned to face him. “Say, Ancap, I must know, what was that extremist, LibRight realization even like for you? Was it frightening? I’m sorry, I’m ever so curious, and you don’t have to share if you really don’t wanna.”

“No, it’s fine. Libertarian, I can talk about it if you want.”

Libertarian nodded. “That would be nice of you.”

“It was frightening if I’m going to be blunt. I thought my torment during that test was never going to end, and even once it had ended, it was still going through my brain. I was like I was trapped in the outside world too. My confinement, I don’t think it lasted all that long…”

Had he fully accepted being an Ancap? He hoped so, power real or not.

“Your metaphorical confinement, huh?”

“Yes, it’s over now!” 

Libertarian patted Ancap’s back. “Well, it’s good that you came out of that. You must be pretty strong. To be honest, since I knew so little about ‘ya I was kinda worried.”

“That’s nice of you to be worried.”

“Hmph, well, I guess I didn’t need to. Us LibRights can handle ourselves, I shouldn’t have doubted you.” Libertarian leaned over and then moved to the other seat, which was next to Ancap. “Say, you still haven’t got the hang of that screen player yet?”

“You mean that thing?” Ancap pointed at the blank screen in front of him, before not resisting the temptation to tap it again.

“Yep, that thing, you want me to find the remote? I should be able to get it working.”

“This thing takes a remote?” Ancap questioned.

Libertarian nodded. “Hang on a moment, we should watch a movie.”

“That would be awesome!”

-

“I did it, we’re out of here, we’re free!” Minarchist shouted.

Ancap was lost, mesmerized in fact watching a movie he had never seen before. It was for sure a high budget production, he was unsure if it had been produced by centrists or by LibRights. The entire plot had seemed complicated, but it appeared like it was a kind of spy movie featuring a group of bad guys that were varying flavours of statist communist. The effects were beautiful, and the fight scenes had been intense, even if Ancap couldn’t follow all of the plot. 

It took Libertarian shaking Ancap’s shoulder to make him look away from it. He peaked away from it; the outside wasn’t as dark as it had been some time ago. Ancap had given up on looking out of the window as all of the shadows repeated themselves that and the movie was just far too good. 

This time, ahead of him was the open road – grey with white lights flashing in and out along the side of the road and above them. Rows and rows of evergreen trees, which you could still tell were emerald in their colour despite the time of day. They were coming up to a large signpost over the horizon: ‘Welcome to the Overton Window: Enjoy your stay’.

“We made it, we got out of there.”

“It took a lot of guts for you to drive out there in the first place,” said Libertarian.

“I guess I just wasn’t ready, but the important thing is I made it, and Ancap is with us,” Minarchist replied. “It shouldn’t be too long now, once I get into the Overton Window I should know where I’m going, everything in the LibRight sector will welcome us anyway.”

“I’ll admit, I was losing some of my faith in you,” Hoppean pestered.

“Oh, stop it.”

Eventually, the city of the centrists came into view. The line of basic looking skyscrapers which huddled around the school’s entrance, Ancap could now look at each and every one of them. 

It’s a question that’s often asked to parents of those of the distant quadrants: ‘Why did you bring your child to grow up alongside the centrists’. Though the question was judgemental, the answers often varied. Some of them even attempted to lie or cover up their reasons both to their child and to their society, but Ancap’s parents had always been very blunt with him. 

_ ‘Because that school never would have suited you anyway’. _

Unlike most of his current classmates, who had been amongst centrist schooling their whole lives, through elementary and even day-care, Ancap had only been moved to one of those schools only after he had turned thirteen.

He hadn’t always been surrounded by a myriad of Ideologies, most of his early life he had been familiar only with other lefties. None of which he had really a close friendship of any sort. His parents could tell that his old school was seemingly not the place for him, he was more than lonely, and he needed a chance at change. But they had never told him explicitly that it was partly because they thought that he wouldn’t end up as a leftist like everyone else. 

Then again, even with his obvious lack of ability to fit in with these people, he wasn’t really consciously thinking about where he would end up. Even when he did move to that new school and saw so many Ideologies he thought didn’t even exist. It wasn’t something that was often on his mind, subconsciously he had always believed that he would just continuously live the same life that he had always been living for his entire life which meant that he would just be another leftist because that’s how his life was. Not until it was a week before his time in ‘The Navigator’ was it really brought up in the household, and even then, it had started off as a joke. The hat, the silly comments and the build-up of what Ancap was thought was a mockery.

It wasn’t even mockery; it was just reality.

And now he was sitting in a car travelling to the opposite corner of the world, and he had never felt better.

He hadn’t visited the other side of the Overton Window, that being the ‘right’ side of the area aside from that one time with the hot chocolate, Ancap had no idea the road would be that busy. The road was as crowded as the city had looked with its buildings at every single corner. The slightly yellow lighting was still visible in the distance and was colouring the tarmac on the road. So many other cars rushing forward, yet without traffic jams and the politeness of never trying to beep. It even seemed to be improving Minarchist’s driving ability!

“Hey, Ancap, you want me to restart the movie?”

He looked away from the window. “Oh sure, let’s watch.” 

-

They had eventually spent about an equal amount of time getting out of the Socialist region as they had done moving toward Ancapistan itself. Each and every tun they took had made the setting around them brighter and brighter. Sparkling. The drivers on the roads growing more reckless and aggressive, the type that Hoppean would have typified Minarchist as. These people certainly seemed to be in a rush to get somewhere, like a midnight business deal of some sort for example. These people had a restless energy to them, Ancap appreciated that. 

Minarchist passed by rows and rows of incredibly large and modern looking houses. Several with glass rooves or extensions out of the sides which lead them to have strange roof designs in order to stand out. Some of them were painted in bright colours: pinks, blues, greens, golds. In-between, the little space that remained between each of the abodes was a palm tree. Some of them so low sitting that they arched over across the road, crowding it. Each of the houses also seemed to carry with them two to five lantern-like ornaments that brought an intense variety of colour to the street, almost always the colour that matched that of the houses’ colours: like they were parading their identities along the neighbourhood, competing. It was like a shining money carnival. 

Whilst still behind the wheel, Minarchist rolled down the window and air, even warmer than that of the car’s heating. There was also a strange smell that wafted through, some mix between plastic and earthy plants, maybe with a touch of sea salt coming from somewhere. 

Was that an artificial ocean? 

Only Earth had true oceans, continents, being a metaphorical space the World of Ideas only had a variety of lakes. However, some of the more rebellious and craftier Ideologies would figure that they would create artificial oceans. Ancap had obviously never seen one in person, considering he was always told that they were a mirror to selfishness and emulation of humans. Now he really wanted to go and see it. 

“Hey, that’s is one!” Minarchist pointed to a sky-blue coloured building, with massive windows and an even more massive design. 

“You live there?” Ancap exclaimed.

“Yup, hey there’s your place Hoppean.” Minarchist pointed again to another house, not quite as large as the previous blue one but still pretty damn big to Ancap, this one had a silvery tint to it.

“Yes, I know that’s my place. Also, you better get ready to show your pass, or you’re gonna be made to pay their stupid fee again.”

The window slid down again as Minarchist started to rummage around in one of the car’s compartments. “The fact I had to pay that fee even once is going to be enough of a reminder, even for me Hoppean…”

The car stopped at a large gate. Bright golden and sparkling. Reflections from all the world around it like a soul-stealing mirror. Ancap looked into as if he were searching for his own reflection. 

These were it. 

The gates to Ancapistan. 

The gates to a whole new life. 

The gates to his dreams.

With a beep confirming Minarchist’s identity, the fabulous gates revealing the landscape of the metropolis. Black, white, silver, and yellow, all at once. There was no sky, every inch of its own pocket universe was crowded in building after building. It was both daytime and night-time simultaneously. On top of those buildings were any kind of neon signs where all the sunlight in the city must have been stored! It was the light that burned your corneas – in a good way. The lights were selling all kinds of wonderful things, and almost every single one of the stores had its own neon sign: clothing, food from every quadrant, casinos, car dealerships and anything else that you could think of. Palm trees also lined the sides of the roads, but this time they looked far more plastic, artificial than the ones on the row that Minarchist lived on. They were probably left outside of shops by companies to make their shopfronts more appealing. There were no streetlights or lanterns – all of the light came from the advertising. Beautiful, beautiful advertising.

In the distance, there was, even more, to gawk at. A roller-coaster that was moving in-between the buildings and a Ferris-wheel that was you could see spinning like a giant gear. 

There were people walking around who weren’t as dazzling as the adverts, there was probably nothing in the city that was, they were still dazzling though. They had clothing that either glowed or sparkled. Every single one of them their own kind of show-off. Every single one of them with their own kind of pride, greed, empowerment. A place where anyone could be anybody (and anybody could sell anything). 

“Take a turn here,” Hoppean said.

“Huh?”

“Nearest carpark.”

The car did a sharp swerve, and each of the burning colours spun in a wave-like smudged paint. Ahead of them was a great yellow arrow with ‘PARKING’ written on it. 

The carpark wasn’t anything special, still mostly grey, even in contrast to its logo and sign which was just as screaming as the rest of the city. But it was big, incredibly big. Minarchist spun up countless floors in the packed parking space until finally the dopey Minarchist even managed to spot one!

“What a journey!” Minarchist stepped out of the car and stretched, Hoppean followed him. 

Ancap’s hand hovered over the door handle as if uncertainty had gripped him until he thrust it open with avarice. He jumped and landed on the concrete. Smoke filled his lungs, but he felt no need to cough. The air was warm, eternally warm with no wind. 

Minarchist was leaning into the car again. “Come on, Stompy.” The little snake was in his hands, its eyes twinkling even now. He lowered his head, and the pretty snake slithered onto his shoulders. Its tongue flicked as it looked at Minarchist like a sign of Ideology/snake friendship. 

“Sooo, time to give me that money then, how much of it did you get in the end?”

Ancap was a bit taken aback by the sudden prompting by Hoppen. “I don’t know, I never counted it.”

“Eh, since I’m taking a bit of it, I might as well help you now where-”

Ancap opened the blazer, and large swatches of the money he had collected fell out. 

Hoppean winced. “Okay, I really gotta help with that.”

After picking up all the notes off of the hot concrete of the parking lot (without either of them burning their fingers), Hoppean had begun to count them. 

He never thought he would feel this way but seeing someone handle what he saw as his own money was kind of sickening… 

“Oh wow, you have way more than $100 here, this is certainly the work of an Ancap, an amateur Ancap, but obviously an Ancap.” 

Hoppean pocketed a small amount of the money and gave the rest back to Ancap, oh the relief! 

_ Obviously an Ancap. _

So, it couldn’t have been his parents hiding it?

“H-how much is it?”

“I think you’ve got about $800 there, enough for a nice suit, maybe not the best around but something decent at least.” 

_ $800 _

Hoppean was right, there was no way Ancap’s parents would have that kind of cash. 

He had powers. He really did. Powers which would only grow the longer he survived.

This was what he had been searching for, even if he had never realized it. 

Money, it was one of the best feelings in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ancap's Journey into Ancapistan will continue in later chapters.
> 
> The next chapter features Commie, who has found new comrades: Posadist and Socialist as they try and train their powers for the battle with 'the school Nazi'.
> 
> You may have noticed the change in the number of chapter numbers from '??' to '25' this is a rough estimation, but I can tell you the start of the second arc will come fairly soon!


	13. Creatures Like Us

“You really think I’m going to do well? Really?!”

“Yes, Comrade, your potential shines like falling stardust.” 

Getting to take new comrades back with him, for training, for education seemed like a dream come true. He was becoming the model Communist without even trying! If he could keep this up, he could soon be a figurehead for his whole community. 

Or for now, just a figurehead to these new comrades. 

The two of them were strange, even by the standards of Commie himself. This wasn’t something that deterred him but only strengthened his resolve. They weren’t going to become battle-ready without him, and it gave him a feeling of such purpose.

Neither of them were conventional Communists like him, in fact, one of them would have been considered a Moderate, the other was wild, even to an extremist like him. They were Socialist and Posadist. 

Socialist had been most, spending half of his journey time practically begging Commie for validation. He was the son of filthy neoliberals, he had said so himself, several times, way too many times. The silly Ideology had got it into his head that because of this, he needs to be the most Socalisty Socialist that ever lived in order to be real.

If he was trying that hard, then he might as well have been a true Communist, but that was unlikely to happen, not without a complete emotional breakdown which Commie didn’t want to see. Still, the complete determination to fit in almost to the point of blindness was very helpful, it meant he could guide him with everything he had.

The other comrade, Posadist, was a world away from the Socialist. He didn’t even look like an Ideology. He had the same colour intensity as Commie himself, a deep red, but that wasn’t what made him stand out so horribly. There were probably some people who would have considered him creepy, but his form was a mere manifestation of his passion for leftist politics, it was kind of beautiful in an existential way. Antenna sprouting out of his head, eyes bright yellow with no pupils inside of them, fangs pointing out of his mouth. He was an alien to the World of Ideas, and probably to Earth as well.

He was still full of shock, but he didn’t seem particularly upset by his new condition. Commie knew that if he started sprouting antennae, he would have freaked out. Posadist seemed more curious than anything. He would spend half the time pulling at the things on the top of his head and the other half sighing at the window. He did manage to answer Commie’s questions, and he didn’t indicate any lack of excitement toward the coming fight. He was also still able to smile between those frightening teeth. 

Commie had wondered what happened exactly to make him, well, like that. Commie hadn’t heard of any Posadists where he had come from, and he knew all sorts of AuthLefts. Maybe they came to someplace even closer to ‘the gate’ which was better for whatever their alien bodies physically needed. Although, if Posadist had originally come from a place that, well, was populated by Posadists, he wouldn’t have been this confused.

“How long do we have?” Socialist begged as he looked out the window.

“Not long, can you feel the cold from here?” Commie grinned.

“I’m already freezing!”

“That’s a good sign.”

The state of constant winter was unforgiving, but where Commie had come from they had always tried their best to make it work. Teamwork and order, that was the magic formula. With everyone putting in the effort and working as one mind, their output matched and even exceeded that of the more environmentally blessed regions. 

People’s actions directed like cogs in a well-oiled machine, and like any machine, it could not work at its full potential without an overseer. A leader that was consistent, someone able to make sure that nobody was doing less than their share and that everyone knew what their exact output should even be.

Of course, in his hometown, this process would happen on a far large scale, and Commie himself would have been just one of the many cogs in the said metaphorical machine. But here, amongst these newcomers, he would be the overseer, and they would be the cogs.

This fight, the one that would take down the Nazi, was just the first step. Deep down, Commie saw this as a war. Something he would continue on a grander scale as time went on. It was just one school Nazi for now, in the future he’d be fighting an entire quadrant. And he’d be a part in training the future.

Then again, all this time spent with the new comrades on the train ride home had meant that Commie hadn’t the chance to read any of his good theory books. Or novels about the way life is. No matter. He wasn’t carrying any new books inside of his bag today, and he didn’t need to read his old material for the 5th time. Maybe he could even pass on some his old books onto Socialist if he would dare to part with them. 

“I’ve never been this North before, father would have never had let me.” Posadist was as glued to the window as was Socialist now.

“More North? Wait, where were you before?”

“With the Trotskyists, the far west.”

Commie couldn’t tell why that made sense, but it just did. Even if he knew next to nothing about Posadism, or Posadists in general.

The three of them were only around thirty minutes from their destination now, that being Commie’s house. Here him and his parents had plenty of weapons (the proletariat must always be armed of course) which he could teach the two of them to use, as well as aid them in utilising their latent abilities, their hardiness. A powerful member of the AuthLeft quadrant could practically withstand everything and anything without batting an eyelid. It took time to get to that point though, for most it took up to a century of a combat-heavy life. If it really was going to take him and his comrades so long, the sooner they started, the better.

During the last moments of their journey, all of them, even Commie himself, found themselves glued to the train’s window. The snowflakes scattering across the glass, leaving sparkling trails which hid the environment that was appearing around them. It seemed as if this place always had the right conditions for snow: either a little or a lot. It didn’t make the work any harder, but it wasn’t like people would complain.

“How are we gonna last in that!” Socialist exclaimed. 

“With strength and bonding comrade.” Commie nodded as the train clicked into the station. 

‘Bing-Bong-Bong-Bing’.

THE TRAIN HAS REACHED ITS FINAL STATION. PLEASE DEPART AND TAKE ALL YOUR BELONGINGS WITH YOU.

PLEASE EXERCISE CAUTION WHILE VISITING EXTREMIST AREAS. 

OVERTON TRAILINES IS NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR ANY DAMAGE THAT MAY RESULT DURING YOUR VISITATION.

_Dangerous? Pft. It was the Centrists who were dangerous._

There was a puff of air as all of winter entered the train carriage. 

“Come on, comrades, it is time for us to leave.”

As Posadist jumped off of the vehicle and his boots met the snow the air and snow around him started to melt, revealing beneath it age-old concrete. Commie looked at the young alien Ideology with a face of shock. 

“Ugh, I can’t put my feet in that, they’re going to get all wet.” Socialist was standing behind Commie and complaining. 

“It is just the snow, you will need to get used to it.”

“But what if I can’t. What if I don’t!”

“You will gather the strength, whether it comes from the outside or from within.” 

Socialist nodded sheepishly as they all journeyed forward.

-

That Posadist! Wandering around without a care in the world, scorching the environment and then thinking nothing of it! He didn’t even realise how long that snow had fallen and graced the landscape! 

Posadist himself was silent, humming now and again as if he was distracted. He probably wasn’t even noticing how the world around him was melting. Like a moving volcano. Spewing grotesquely, spitting fire. Not the fit for an environment of mainstream Communists. What did Posadists do even? What kind of comrades were they?

Socialist was at least trying his best on the route back at least. He wasn’t wearing boots, still just school shoes but he had managed his way through the frosty forest. He was working through the cold. Whiny though Socialist was, he had much promise, especially as he was recovering from a family of neoliberals. 

_Abandoning his old neoliberal lifestyle would be easy for him_. Commie smiled as he watched Socialist. 

“We are but a few steps away,” Commie said.

“R-really?”

Posadist nodded. “Hmm, we are?” 

Posadist did a little run that made it so he would catch up with Commie. The fiery energy around him, catching the very edge of Commie’s coat slightly alight. This was traditional wear too, ugh! Then again, Posadist didn’t seem to have much regard for traditions of any sort. 

The Socialist must have been freezing to the bone, probably thinking of a roaring fire, or rather, artificial heating system because that’s what those weird capitalists used, they didn’t have such harsh weather over there, not even during their own cold seasons. Commie wasn’t jealous of that though, and Socialist would be climatised to all this soon enough.

“Where even are your homes, I can’t even see a pathway! Are you sure we’re all going the right way?” Posadist asked, the vague hint of what might look like stone beneath his feet. 

“Pah!” Commie spat, “We do not need which does not serve a purpose, and of course I know where I’m going, I live here! See look.” Commie pointed toward a grey, twisted building that reached over the hights of the fir trees which formed a false looking pathway.

The other quadrants liked to refer to the Socialist art style as ‘brutalist’, but Commie himself thought it was just practical. Large buildings which could house everyone and didn’t have any needless bright colours. Why misuse people’s energy just to make something look a little better?

“Huh, it’s almost as big as some of the skyscrapers in Overton,” said Socialist.

“Almost. Pft. Unlike those kulaks bizarre business, these places have purpose. We should go and head inside.”

Commie realised how dilapidated the building which housed his apartment was. What little paint there was on the entrance was already peeling. The pillars of steel, and metal, rusted partly to a brown colour. The entrance was more like a gate, also held together with metal. There was no welcome sign, no signs, this place was owned by no one but the community. The only thing on the walls was a map in a glass sealed case. A map detailing each of the floors, numbers, rooms, just in case anybody got lost, but nobody did. It functioned just fine, it wasn’t in need of changing, despite how it looked. 

In order to get to the lift, which was sealed by a grate, you had to remember a five-digit number so that you could get inside it. A good way to fend off outsiders but it was well known by this point that pretty much everyone in the town knew how to get into each apartment block. 

Commie looked at his two new comrades and wondered if it would be worthwhile to tell them the pin as well. Never mind, that was also something that they needed to earn. 

Pulling down the sleeves of his jacket, looking at the poor frayed (but at least not burnt) edges, Commie steadied his hand as he gazed at the keypad in front of him. He felt the jiggered numbers beneath his nails, the dirt rubbing onto his fingers – he typed the code: 51912. 

The door rumbled; Commie moved over toward the grate. His comrades, just standing there with next to no expression on their faces. Were they judging him? Were they scared? Grabbing onto the side of the gate, Commie pulled it open with a hefty force, walking inside, putting his arms behind his back, he looked ahead unblinking. Posadist and Socialist stared back. 

“Well, get in then.”

Socialist nodded vigorously. “I will, I will.” 

Posadist was a little slower, he seemed to be pulling on his antennae again. The damn little alien didn’t seem present in the world around him. Which, Commie supposed, made a bit of sense at least, perhaps he wasn’t of the World of Ideas in some way, his body wasn’t trying to look like that of humans. He didn’t belong beyond the gate, if he was an off-compass, then Commie would be able to tell. He was, apparently, an Ideology that the Realists had no interest in hunting down. 

“Hey, Posadist, you should get moving.” 

The glowing figure took notice around thirty seconds later, it was if he had finally realised that someone was standing there and actually waiting for him. “Oh, wait, yes.”

Posadist cheerfully hopped into the elevator, the freezing air around him immediately started to heat up. It made Commie gag – he wasn’t used to this heat. He could barely stand the heating system in the centrist school. He had taught himself not to think about it when he had visited the communes with Ancom, with enough convincing, enough stifling, he faked liking the immense heat. It made him want to gag, even more, thinking about his old self.

The lift system was only really fit for one person at a time, maybe two at best. Three was a stretch of its space. The three of them were all shoulder to shoulder. The warmth of Posadist just existing was probably singeing Commie’s precious coat even further. He could also smell what seemed to be a faint stench of nuclear energy coming from him? It was probably just his imagination. Socialist was fiddling with his hands, his body itself jittering, it made the rest of the elevator move slightly. 

There was no voice to signal when the lift has reached its destination, there was only a loud ‘thump’ as it landed. Commie pushed open the grate again to reveal a hallway which was a lot more welcoming that the entrances to the apartments.

It wasn’t decked out in unneeded luxury goods. It was instead supposed to inspire the spirit of the workers with images of unity. The flag of Earth’s former nation, the USSR was framed at the back of the hallway. On the right and the left, between each of the doors sat a painting or a photo. Socialist Realism, of course, brave men and women who had dedicated their lives to work and service. Some of these people were very much real Ideologies, with several still living in the wider quadrant and doing just as much hard work as they had always done. Others were fictional, images of perfection, a hypothetical ideal worker, their ‘heroes’ as others might have seen them. 

Neoliberals had fictional kulak ‘superheroes’, but AuthLefts like him had a far more realistic approach. Their so-called heroes were designed without any need for fantasy. They were simply their Ideological ideals given form and thus, could easily be mistaken for real people. They had lives and histories, albeit entirely fictional ones made up to be images of the proletariat struggle.

Commie had even remembered making one of his own characters at one point. He must have been pretty young, a time where ‘The Navigator’ was a distant dream away. He probably hadn’t even had met Ancom then. The character he had made likely didn’t have much of a backstory, but he was a common figure in Commie’s art… so to say. His art which was never very good, yet still celebrated by those around him as he ‘embraced the strength of the working class’ by creating a ‘self-insert’.

His picture would never be framed in wood on any of these walls though, maybe one day his image as a real Ideology would, however. To Commie, that would be one of the highest honours. 

The third door on the left, Commie’s apartment room. He gave one look of acknowledgement to the others before taking his keys out of his pocket and unlocking the door.

A great red vista opened, Socialist pushed passed Commie and aimed for one of the three armchairs that stood in the middle of the room. His parents were likely out, working still, tending the fields, most likely.

“Hey, be careful with that, that is my father’s armchair,” Commie said whilst folding his arms. 

Socialist didn’t listen, Socialist continued to run over toward the seat and bounced on it as he sat. Commie couldn’t be too mad though; it was a tough climb to reach this place if you weren’t used to living here.

“Hey, is this all those theory books you told me about?” From the chair, Socialist was pointing above him at the massive bookshelf. 

“Yes, it is. But we are not reading theory today, but you can come back tomorrow if you want to read?” 

“Didn’t you try to read me this in class? Didn’t you speak over the teacher?”

While holding his school bag tightly next to him, Commie walked over to stand next to the bookshelf and where Socialist was sitting. “It was true, I did talk over the teacher, but this was important information, and I did not want you to miss out on it.”

Commie threw the school bag onto the floor and proceeded to pull out the books he had brought with him, both for Ideology school and the train ride. It had turned out that he didn’t need as many as he had first thought, but it never hurt to come prepared. One at a time he filed each one of the seven books he had brought with him into the strict alphabetical order that his family had kept for as long as he had been alive.

Not once had it been confused, not once misarranged or ‘messed up’. 

As Commie was focused on his steady book placement, he hadn’t noticed that Posadist had entered the room. 

Without turning away from the books, Commie yelled out, “D-don’t sit down!” 

“Why me?”

Commie shoved the book into the bookcase, a little forced, but he didn’t want the strange Ideology to burn anything by touching it. He ran to the centre of the room, Posadist and Socialist looking at him, they probably hadn’t expected him to enter such a panicked state that quickly.

“Nothing nothing,” Commie spluttered. “I shall go and get the hammers now, it is training time.”

Socialist jumped up off the chair and clapped. “I’m ready to learn. I’m ready to learn.” 

“We’ll go to the balcony, exit the door on your left and I’ll meet you there,” Commie said.

-

Three Hammers.

Three of them. 

Hammers, iconic weapons of AuthLefts everywhere. Multipurpose. Great work tools that could be used to dedicate yourself to a variety of crafts but also heavy weapons that only Ideologies with a lot of physical strength, such as themselves, could hold.

Commie could never have held even one of these as a child, or a few days ago for that matter. Now he could carry all three of them at once. It was taking all his strength, yes, but it was quite the change and also quite the triumph. 

He dragged them across the sitting room and then through the door that led to the balcony. He was met with the cold air again as he walked through. He threw the hammers down on the metallic ground of the balcony in front of his new comrades. 

“Well, pick one up,” Commie said bluntly.

This balcony was great, there was enough room to spar between each other, and nothing would get broken (aside from maybe a bone or two if they were careless). Here was also a wonderful view, what Tankie considered wonderful at least. Rows and rows of trees, mountains in the distance which became more disturbing in their majesty as you remembered they were so close to ‘the gate’. However, what Commie thought the best thing about the view was the twisted apartment blocks that scattered the landscape. On a normal night, you could just come out here and clear your lungs, but this was no normal night. There was combat to be had. 

Socialist had already grabbed one of them, picking it up unsteadily at the lower part of the handle. His face wobbled and as his armed moved from the heaviness of the object. He would have struck Commie’s legs if he hadn’t gotten out of the way fast enough.

“Are you interested in sparing, Socialist?”

“Uhh, what?” 

“Posadist, mind out the way.” Commie pointed to the corner, Posadist made a muffled noise and Commie himself stepped back onto one side of the balcony. He lifted his hammer close to his chest as in preparation to swing it. “Socialist get ready, you’ll need to try and hit me.”

Commie ran forward, rushing straight at Socialist, hammer raised. Socialist screamed. Out of pure fear, Socialist raised his hammer and pushed against Commie’s. Commie grunted as he tried to push Socialist away. 

Socialist was shockingly strong, despite looking so lanky. ‘The Navigator’ really was a miracle worker. Knowing he wouldn’t get to Socialist’s defences, Commie jumped back and removed his hammer. 

“Hm, Impressive,” Commie said as he moved to swing the hammer at Socialist’s legs.

Socialist’s wasn’t quite fast enough to get away completely, he leapt back with a gasp, it was just enough for his legs to not be completely broken.

“Nice dodge.”

“Oh, come on, you gave me that.”

“Did it hurt?” Commie asked.

“Uh, well, yes, a little, why?”

“‘The Navigator’ really does make changes. You never would have been able to stand that if you weren’t a Socialist, would you?”

“Uh?”

“See, why don’t you try and hit me this time?”

Shuffling his feet, he looked up at Commie. “Are you sure?”

“Well, you’re going to need to land a strong attack against the Nazi, aren’t you?”

“Of course!”

“Then fight me!” 

Commie prepared his weapon again. Socialist was slow, clumsy with the weapon in hand, but he did eventually charge forward. He wasn’t exactly the fastest at running yet either, something he would learn with time. Socialist jumped. Just as Commie lifted his hammer.

Crash! 

“Ouch, right in the chest. Now, that was a hard hit!” 

Socialist grinned triumphantly and pulled back the hammer. “Wait, I hurt you?”

“Not all that much, us Authlefts have constitution like metal. I hate to say it but yours… it’s probably not as good as mine, but the ability to withstand an awful lot, we have that in us!” 

Socialist was still smiling as he dropped the hammer onto the ground. “Can I take a break?”

“You have started to prove your metal, you may comrade.”

“Thank you!”

“And what about you, Posadist, will you now spar with me? I need to see if your combat abilities are up to check?”

The alien Ideology was staring into the distance, not even blinking - all flame. Heavily breathing. Commie, feeling as if he had to, went over and touched his shoulder. Posadist jumped. 

“Hey, Posadist, you ready to train?”

Posadist quickly pushed away Commie’s hand, as if he still hadn’t realised what was actually going on. 

“Hey, Posadist?” Commie asked again.

“Wait, what, Me? Me Posadist?”

“Yes, you, Posadist!” Commie tried to cheer up a bit poking Posadist this time. 

“You want me to pick up the hammer, right?”

“Please, I need to see how strong you are. I need to see that you have the strength to fight that stupid Nazi, eh?” 

“Oh, wait, we’re fighting a Nazi, aren’t we? Fuck yes!” Posadist started to perk up, his golden eyes, lanterns, shining. 

It was pitch black outside now, you could see the stars which were unpolluted by light. If Commie wasn’t so focused on training, then he would have probably pointed out some of the constellations. Although it wasn’t like knowledge on stars was going to help the proletariat struggle, was it?

Commie stepped away from Posadist, hm, if the guy really was an alien, or an image of one, what sort of star system would he have come from? More unimportant information. 

Once his comrade was on the other side of the balcony, Commie once again lifted his hammer. “Ready?”

Posadist did nothing. Commie almost stopped as he reached him, but already mid-swing he didn’t stop. Trying to pull back, Commie struck Posadist against his side. Posadist winced before being thrown backwards, cradling his arm. 

_Wait, why didn’t Posadist fight back?_

“Hey, Comrade! Lift up your hammer! Try and block my attack!”

_This had to be a fluke, Posadist had to be stronger than this!_

“I-I will try, is that alright?” Posadist gritted his teeth, his pointed fangs clear.

“So long as you are trying, that is good with me.”

Another strike. 

Nothing from Posadist.

He fell to the ground.

“Posadist!”

“Ugh… what even in the hell, Communist…”

_Could he really not fight? Could this Authleft really not stand a single attack?_

Socialist was standing nearby a concerned but puzzled look on his face. Commie had knelt down, checking for any actual physical injuries that Posadist might have sustained, but he saw none. No bleeding, not even a scratch.

“Can you stand up, Posadist?” 

After a few absent moments, Posadist replied, “Yeah, I can.”

Socialist looked down at the both of them. “M-maybe we should go inside?”

“And finish training!?”

“You see how Posadist isn’t up to this, we could sit in the warm and read some theory, you could finish the book you were reading earlier and…”

Commie was still looking at Posadist, who was now sitting up, head downward. Something beneath his eyes was glowing as some liquid trailed from them. If he hadn’t been hurt ‘physically’ then maybe talking to him would help him get back on track. Then they could continue training. 

“Alright,” Commie said. 

“Come on, Posadist, let’s go inside,” Socialist spoke sorrowfully.

As Commie walked away and back into the house, he saw, out of the corner of his eye, Socialist helping Posadist off of the ground. The two of them smiled at each other. Commie opened the door.

-

“Alright everyone, why don’t you sit down, they are our chairs, after all, put your feet up by the fire or whatever.” 

Even as Commie said that Socialist and Posadist were already sitting comfortably in those armchairs. Socialist himself had taken to sitting with his legs in a pretzel shape, his shoes full snow and mud were up on the chair. At least, the fire of the fireplace was roaring now, with the logs that Commie had chopped himself (and then equally shared out, of course).

“I may as well assess you now, Socialist, you did excellently. I’m sure you will be a strong asset when it comes to our war against the right, from now till perhaps eternity. But as for you, Posadist there seems to be something the matter. Can you not focus? Or is there some other reason why you do not share the ability of me and Posadist?”

Posadist scratched his head. He was burning the damn chair just by sitting there. Commie could already tell that the material around was getting darker, he hoped that it wouldn’t set alight instantly. “Me? Something on my mind, well I guess, you promise not to complain about it, right?”

“What would I complain about? I won’t complain about my comrades, we have a mission, don’t we?”

“As long as you are sure of that.”

_We cannot have any more distractions. Especially when you are destroying the furniture, we all worked so far to create…_

“First of all, I hate this body.”

“You hate what!”

“Is it possible… to hate being an Ideology?” asked Socialist.

“I don’t hate being an Ideology, that’s silly! I’m fine with being a Posadist as well. It makes sense to me. It makes too much sense to be. To the point, it doesn’t make much sense to be here.” Fire spat from his mouth as he spoke.

“So you want to leave? Is that what you want? You didn’t have to come here, you know.”

_If you didn’t want to come, why waste my time?_

“Tsk. My body is made of nuclear energy, I don’t need to be swinging a war hammer around. I must have been in some trance when I accepted this because damn, I just miss…”

“Miss?! Miss what?!”

_Why did he come here if…_

“The spaceship they put me on, the place that they took me. The place where I got to become, well, me. And then I woke up.”

Commie shook his head. “You aren’t speaking any sense.”

“You really think that I just woke up out ‘The Navigator’ looking like this? It took time, Communist!”

“So, like an hour? That’s not a long time, even for becoming an alien slash nuclear weapon.”

“Ugh!” Posadist dug his nails into the side of the armchair, his nails which looked more like claws. “No, not an hour, it was days! Weeks!” 

Those sharp alien teeth, clearly pointing at Commie, it looked as if Posadist wanted to bite him. 

Socialist looked down, “I thought it was just me, I thought it was gonna take forever.”

“It’s like I wanted to be there forever…”

As they talked, Commie had turned around to stare into the fire, wasn’t the intense warm supposed to be repulsive to him? No matter, it was a distraction. He didn’t expect the training session to go off the wheels this fast, but then he also didn’t expect the lack of loyalty from one of the people he had deemed a comrade. He asked what was wrong because it was only polite not because he actually wanted to hear Posadist get angry at him. Behind that veneer of absent-mindedness was a lot of rage he wasn’t prepared for. 

“You wanted to be in ‘The Navigator’ forever? Really?” questioned Socialist.

“It feels better than whatever reality this is. Sometimes, I get the urge to just kinda… destroy it all! You know?”

“Gah, destroy it?!”

Posadist laughed horrifically. “Well, yeah. Destroy it!”

Commie turned around. Snapped. He was no longer facing the fire, he was facing Posadist’s fire. “You’d destroy this good world that our comrades have worked so hard to create?”

“Well, maaaybe?” Such round, bright eyes, lanterns. Hanging lanterns. Wavering.

_Was he joking? He better have been joking._

“Ah, where was I? Oh, yes, I hate this body. It doesn’t belong here. This world which has tried to almost replicate Earth, and, let’s be honest, does a horrible job of it. You really think the rhythmless universe could really match a world which can only match itself on the symbolic? Humans can’t make sense of their own world, can they?”

“You’re really bringing humans into this?! You are really criticising them for your conditions? 

“Let’s face it, Communists, if they could make sense of the world alone, we wouldn’t need to exist, eh?” 

Commie’s face would have turned red if it weren’t already.

“You know, I guess you’re kinda right,” said Socialist.

“No, he’s not! We respect humans, we’re supposed to…!”

That alien, bleak and burning, comrade or no comrade. The longer he stared, the more Commie’s mind started to wander, wander into his memories to make the rage inside him die down. His friendship with the Ancom now long gone, the struggle to forge new connections prevalent, his brain had started searching the past for answers. 

Had that figure he had kept drawing been a human or an Ideology? But how would a human be able to live up to perfect Ideological beliefs? 

“Well, humans have funny ideas too, sometimes so funny they result in creatures… like me?”

He remembered now: _A human, an imaginary friend, a mythological dream from the World of Ideas, a story for children. Adventures of Ideologies who by some means travelled to Earth to become like spirits. To teach and educate them in the right way to live._

_Myth and fantasy or not._

Young Commie had wanted that, daydreamed about it. 

He had until Ancom anyway.

And now he was reminded that he might only have himself…

“Creatures like you?”

“Not capable of living in this environment, restricted. These antennae which keep noticing mere changes in the wind, the air. If I smile too wide, then my teeth end up injuring me. I’ll bite my tongue and gums. Now even my blood is bright glowing orange. But back in ‘The Navigator’ I got to be on my own home planet, I was not idolising humans but rather aliens of another world. You know, something better than a human! When I find whatever far-left place that I’m supposed to live in, then I might be able to you know, fight, and I really mean fight.”

“But you won’t fight alongside me? Alongside all these other caring members of your own quadrant!”

“No. I don’t think you’ll ever be as willing to go as far as I would. I don’t mean that in a bad way, of course.”

“Uh, Posadist, are you sure you want to stick around?” Socialist asked.

“Maybe, if I could find my home again or something, where would even be home for me?”

“I’m sure you’ll find it one-day Posadist.”

“Me too. Seems like you shall be spared, Socialist.”

“Wait-spared?!”

_It’s like a human friend was the thing that he wanted most of all…_

_Like the ultimate dream of an Ideology._

_Yet fantasy, just fantasy._

_Was he the Socialist hero in his story? Or was it the human?_

_Ideologies and Humans blurring in his mind: no that couldn’t be!_

Commie clapped his hands together, and with that, he jolted out of his daydreams. “Well, well, well, if we really aren’t preparing for our fight then it’s best you two leave!”

Rising from the burning chair, Posadist moved as close as possible to Commie, all of the flames from his body jumping, every single fang in his glowing mouth visible like a shark. Commie could see the faintest hint of golden blood. 

“With pleasure!” 

A trail of light was left in his wake. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for over 1000 hits! It's been just under four months since the I've first started this fic and I've cherished every kudos, comment, bookmark and sub since then! (here's to 1000 more, maybe). 
> 
> The next chapter features James, with a sense of newfound confidence travelling to the elusive land of the Nazbols. Here, he'll learn some troubling secrets about his possible future.


	14. Changelings

“Please, shush shush, I do not want them to hear you coming, you are but my guests.” 

It was hard to tell how many times Nazbol had repeated that by now, despite the fact that nobody else had ever appeared. 

It was cold, wandering across the misty tundra with no end in sight. Homonationalist had shown no signs of being disturbed, whereas James had wished that he had brought a coat. Not that he would have brought a coat, real men can bear any temperature, real men don’t get cold when they travel a little north. 

When they had first arrived, they had parted browning trees and wandered down leafy pathways – what James had thought to be a sight of shocking comfort. But that hadn’t lasted long, for the rest of the journey was through a blank wilderness. A place so thickly steeped in fog that it had no past and no future. If there really was anything ahead, James had been unable to see it. Cold though it was, there had been no noticeable snowfall during the entire trip, nothing. James felt mostly thankful, but he still wondered if the cool drops of snow might have refreshed him during the seemingly unending journey.

The long walk of nothingness was also then accompanied by Nazbol sporadically warning them that they were strangers under the Nazbol sphere and that one had to be as careful as possible as guests on their land. 

Whatever that was supposed to mean. 

James didn’t know shit all about Nazbols, and he wasn’t particularly looking forward to learning. As for Nazbols weird acceptance of him being… what he is, that feeling had ebbed away as they journeyed forward. Nazbol’s voice being used for vague warnings alone. He had shrugged them off, told him to shut up once or twice, not that Nazbol had noticed or cared.

Homonationalist had appeared calm through the whole thing. He was not one bit bothered by anything that surrounded him. But then again, like James, he just might not have been showing it. He had a bemused smirk on his face in fact, at least, he would when he had turned to look at him. It was like he was trying to tell James something, probably some bragging right that he didn’t need to know about.

Stupid Homonationalist.

“We’re here, we’re here, we’re here!” A sudden cheerful voice rang out.

“What?!” 

After hours of leading the group from the front, Nazbol had galivanted forward and pulled James by the hand. He gasped as he nearly slipped on some of the ice below him. Homonationalist skipped ahead as James was being pulled across the icy ground. 

“This is my house, our house, we’re here!”

James rubbed his eyes as the mist parted around him. He hadn’t noticed it before, but his eyes had been stinging the entire time. What had the Nazbols done? Sprayed some kind of pepper spray, poison gas?! Was this how they claimed their territory?

Nazbol pushed him forward and laughed. “I bet you’re both excited to enter, yes?”

“Absolutely,” Homonationalist stated.

James saw clearly for the first time in hours. The little wooden housing structure stood in another blank terrain, the only thing in the distance being more little wooden housing structures which matched the place he was looking at exactly. They were like mirrors reflecting one another, each in a different position but with no physical changes. He was almost surprised by the perfectly accurate design, there must have been some talent, some dedication that was hidden away here, even from the messiness of Nazbol’s own features. His town at least seemed to be proper authoritarians. 

Another nice surprise from the Nazbol town was a large flag, bright red with that odd rendition of that Communist symbol on it. It was like the town’s centrepiece. Held up with such pride and regard. It wasn’t _his_ flag, it was a grotesque flag that was made by Commies, but having such a great emotional investment, like a sense of national pride in a way.

James had expected far worse. This place might not have felt like his home, but it still felt like a home. A place where his Ideology self might be bemused or perhaps somewhat comfortable with the atmosphere. It had a better atmosphere than the school anyway, and even his old hometown when he had briefly returned there. Despite the fact that James still saw him… the Nazbol, as a pest but deep down, they must have shared some commonalities.

_Could that be a positive thing?_

“We all live here, this town, our beautiful town. Why would a Nazbol want to live anywhere else?” 

“You’re so right,” Homonationalist said, as he put his hand on the shoulder of the Nazbol.

“Did you know? Some Ideologies don’t get to live among their own? Some Ideologies even get thrown out of their very homes, isn’t that sad?”

James felt his boot stomp onto the ground, his foot falling through the ice, he nearly tripped. 

“That is sad, isn’t it, hmm?” Homonationalist replied.

“Very sad! I would dread such a fate. Nazbols really are the affectionate sort, to each other. We really don’t like many outsiders, we want to always come out on top, yes? If we encountered outsiders who were not graciously invited, we would drive them from the land with horrifying force! But you’re guests, so you are fine.”

“It’s great to be a guest among you.”

_Oh God, he’s sucking up to him._

Maybe this was all a prank? Homonationalist wanted to mess with him by bringing him somewhere weird, to someone weird?

Even if it was, that was fine – James told himself. James wanted to believe that he was strong enough to take down whatever faced him. Including that fake Homonationalist and his weirdo friend.

“Now, this is my place.” Nazbol rested his hand on one of the wooden buildings. “All of my family live here, and I’m sure that you’re all just in time for dinner!” 

“Dinner? For us?” 

“Yes, yes, you are treasured guests after all, even if it is funny to us to see the other Ideologies suffer and starve!” 

Nazbol pushed open the door, the inside of the place seemed so red and so warm. Homonationalist passed through the door quickly. James was still hesitant. He hadn’t spoken up and had spent almost the entire time far behind the other two. 

He had been too busy thinking about what he was doing and where he was going that he hadn’t realised how far he had actually walked and how tired his limbs had gotten. His uniform had good resistance to the cold, either that or his new ultra-authoritarian form was just well-adjusted to the cold. To a certain extent, the bitter biting winds brought were comfortable. It was mostly the sheer amount of nothingness that made James so uncomfortable earlier. For the amount of pride, these part-communists had in their small town, they didn’t exactly surround themselves with images of their culture.

If his supposed ‘Nazi’ homeland looked like anything, it better had not been a near blank void like this. After he had spoken to Nazbol and whilst referring to himself as ‘Identitarian’ in his head a few time, he indulged himself in imagining where he might get to live if he just accepted himself. 

As he imagined it: the old buildings would have pride of place; otherwise, everything built would have a perfect uniform order. Each family, a mother and a father and their child would be given just the right amount of space. All people would provide their appropriate service according to their sex with a priority on the strong…

None of these thoughts were in all that much detail, they were probably more like feelings than thoughts. Images that drifted in and out of his head that gave him a sense of comfort. He had to daydream away his shitty conditions at his shitty Ideology school. That and he had to get any remaining images of his time in ‘The Navigator’ out of his head. He needed something to keep his mounting rage from overwhelming him, and these were just the images that his brain drifted towards. 

Was this the life he was supposed to be living? Was his ‘Ideology’ imagination just that good? Whatever it was, it was enough for that weird pain he had felt due to his denial to leave him. 

But in this lucid state, he still used the name ‘James’ and staring at this… Nazbol with his purple eyes glittering viciously. He had no time to daydream during this journey, and it had started to affect him physically at some point. 

His fingers were trembling, his head was splitting. He needed to be in an environment which didn’t despise him being there. James wasn’t too far from whatever border there must have been with his AuthRight region which meant that he should have been more relaxed here than any of the other places that he had ever been, it, in fact, made little sense that he was just that disconnected from this place. Even though the inside was more welcoming, whatever the Nazbols had done to this place to suppress outsiders, it was working. 

“Hey, Nazi, you coming inside or not?” Homonationalist’s voice snapped James out of his trance.

Nazbol and Homonationalist had moved to both blocking the doorway, they were almost leaning up against each other. James was starting to have a hard time believing that they had both met just today.

Regardless, James didn’t want to be standing outside, languishing in the atmosphere of… whatever ghastly powers Nazbol’s apparently had. Maybe there would be some water inside to cure his blasted headache. Probably not, but he could cope.

“Yes? Yes, I’m coming inside.”

James pushed the two aside as he entered. He saw Nazbol smirked as he brushed past him.

“Oh wow, oh wow Nazbol, is this the Nazi you brought home, how very exciting.”

As soon as he entered, James realised he had stumbled into a very populated lodge-like sitting room. He was surrounded by other Nazbols - everyone in the room just another Nazbol. Funny, James had always been under the impression Nazbols were rare – like a dying breed. There were several generations of families here under one building. James could only wonder if they were genetically related or just shared an Ideology.

James could certainly admire the attempt if they were genetic, that is.

Standing on a deep red coloured carpet, likely mimicking the flag that he had seen on that pole earlier: a person who must have been Lil’ Nazbol’s mom. 

They certainly looked alike, and it wasn’t just the bright purple tone. She had the same freckles, the slight chubbiness and overall messy presentation. 

“Yes, this is him!” 

James heard the door shut behind him as Nazbol ran over to his parental figure.

“My goodness! How long will he be staying for?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Hmm, we’ll see, we’ll see. Who is your other little friend?”

Homonationalist stepped forward, Nazbol grabbed his hand.

_Ewww. Two men hand-holding._

“This is Homonationalist. He is a friend of the Nazi, I didn’t want them to leave each other.”

“How admirable of you, my Nazbol, friends must always stick together, especially if they’re the right friends.”

Nazbol nodded at what his mother was saying. “We don’t want our Nazi to be lonely do we, not at all.”

James still cringed when he was referred to as such. Apparently to enough of a degree that Nazbol noticed. In the next instant, the Nazbol’s hand was on his shoulder. “Hm, say, this Nazi is a really really funny one, he doesn’t even like being called by his name! He said he wanted to be called Identitarian or something instead.”

James let out a sigh of relief. 

“How funny he is, at least he looks the part right?” Nazbol’s mom asked.

“Oh, he is not dressed like this willingly, this is how the school uniform department decided he should look.”

“Well, perhaps that centrist school of yours does have something commendable in it. That costume is so accurate, I would have thought that it had come straight from the region itself.”

James looked down at himself again, saw that blue-black coloured uniform that had made him despise himself the first time that he put in on. He still disliked it because of what it did to him, how he was seen on the outside. But the idea of his ‘costume’ looking real in the eyes of someone who actually approved of him felt like something different. Something that might have been good?

James felt as if he had to mention that he had never actually been there and that the school’s imitation was worthless, but why should he disrupt them as they basked in his presence?

“I know, I know,” said Nazbol. “It really suits him doesn’t it, it’s perfect.”

Nazbol tugged on James’s uniform sleeve. James didn’t have the heart to push him away, nor the nerve.

“You’re right, say, it’s about time that we got our guests something to eat, isn’t it?”

“Yes, yes, of course! It must have been such a long journey for them, they must be so hungry.”

“I am rather hungry, thank you, uh, Mrs Nazbol,” Homonationalist said. 

Nazbol’s mother laughed before wandering away into another room. James would have very much liked to be alone now, maybe he would have been able to stand Homonationalist for a few more minutes, but these were, three other Nazbols? James didn’t even want to imagine them talking. Yet, all those eyes were on him.

“Oh another Nazi, here! It’s like our lucky day,” one of them said.

Nazbol’s friends? Siblings? Had the same uneasy energy as he did. The same energy as his weird-ass town did. It wasn’t really like anything he had come across before. He hadn’t been in the presence of real authoritarians before, or extremists – minus a few of his weird teachers. This was something else entirely. 

Their eyes all equally round – sparkling with a fearful joy, they could have been mirrors too, like their buildings. Their bright purple skin tone never wavering to a lighter colour. They all wore the same communist looking hat, it was likely that said hat was fashioned here in this village. Now that he thought about it, James doubted that the Nazbols would let any centrists touch the objects or even ideas that they had created.

“Another one, another one. And so soon too!” One of them cried out. 

“Another one?”

Nazbol shoved James aside to go and join said siblings, who were all gawking at James. 

“Another Nazi!”

“Uh, this is a funny one, this one doesn’t use that name.”

“That’s new! Makes sense that after so long that’ll they would bring in a weirdo though.”

“Hey, I’m not a weirdo!” James protested. 

“You’re a weirdo ’cause you don’t love yourself.”

“We can tell, tell by how sad you look.”

“Never seen a Nazi that sad before, normally they are obsessed with their identities.”

“They’re screaming at us all the time; I’ve never seen one so quiet.”

Nazbol stepped forward, now standing in front of all his siblings. “May I suggest that you call him Identitarian? He might even smile for you if you call him that.”

Inadvertently, James felt himself blushing, enough for it to warm him up a little.

“That’s a silly name!”

“Who would want to be called by an Ideology they are not!”

“It makes me feel better, okay?” James shouted.

The weird gaggle of purple Ideologies backed away. They then all looked at each other, smirked, and then burst out laughing. 

“We should go,” one of them said. “We need to go and reinforce the barrier.”

“But we did that earlier!” said a second one.

“We can never be too careful, Nazbol. Otherwise, I’m sure we can find some work to do around town.”

“But what if we’re not back for dinner?”

“Since when were we ever late for dinner?!”

Who looked to be the tallest Nazbol; presumably the oldest of the trio proceeded to run toward the other end of the lodge-room, their boots stomping along the ground loudly. It was now that James noticed that the collection of Nazbols likely weren’t at all genetically related. Their heights, hair texture, facial features all seemed to vary quite a bit, only one of them really looked like the Nazbol that James knew from school. Disappointing. Also, as opposed to the near-identical hats, their uniforms seemed to vary in style as well. Not all of them followed a military-style vibe, one of them was in a heavy Commie coat, and another a semi-intangible looking cloak – it didn’t call to mind any Ideology specifically. 

“I’m sorry about those guys, they’re a bit strange aren’t they, we should sit down in a bit, wait for food.”

Homonationalist, who had been silent through the whole thing, finally spoke up again, “That sounds like a good idea.”

The three of them then sat, waiting. The Nazbol household had itself a long sofa which took up a good portion of the room, at least, a good portion of the back of the room. There was little entertainment to be had here, not even a television of any sort. James’s old home had always had some kind of distraction going on, though it was usually the chattering of the TV, but it also could have been anything from music to video games. He kind of missed being a ‘gamer’, but he had now started to appreciate the silence. His brain being flooded with so much light and sound was a distant memory. The only sound was a buzzing from somewhere, the lights or the fan maybe?

“Hm, say, what was that barrier place that the rest of your family mentioned earlier?”

In an instant, Nazbol jumped up. “The barrier, I know the barrier, it’s that place we all walked through to get here.”

“That thing?” Homonationalist replied.

_The barrier? Was that why I felt so weird?_

“Being so far left and far right at the same time, we’re not the most liked Ideology group in the World of Ideas, even our neighbours hate us, although we try our very best to love them. So, to make sure that only the proper people can enter our very prestigious grounds, we have comprised a barrier around us, using, get this, our very own abilities!”

“Sounds pretty convenient that you can make barriers ’cause you need to protect yourself, doesn’t it?”

Nazbol shook his head vigorously. “Well, well didn’t always need to protect ourselves like this, most people just left us alone, they knew that we shouldn’t be messed with, even if we were few in number!”

_The Nazbols, protecting themselves._ James thought to himself, wondering the comparisons between his own Ideology and theirs – in terms of public perception anyway. If he felt unsafe, then did the Nazbols feel that way too. 

Not that their safety even mattered.

“…and then what happened? Does this story have an ending?”

“You have such enthusiasm!” Nazbol clapped his hands together, unaware of how snide Homonationalist’s comments actually were. “I can’t say if it has an ending or not, for, if this was a story, it would still be ongoing of course, the reclamation of the Nazbols may never end. Though if this is a story, I need to start at the beginning anyway, you haven’t even heard the beginning yet.”

“I wasn’t being exactly literal with this story thing, but, you can go on ahead anyway.”

“Again, being so far left and far right at the same time, the centrists really do hate us, we hate them equally, and despite all our glory, we could never really stand against them in a fight. And what a conflict it was! We lost horribly.”

“A conflict!” James butted his way into the conversation, “Which conflict? When conflict, what, what was this…”

James wasn’t strong enough not to tremble, the idea of other far authoritarians losing, it irritated him. 

“Not too recent, not too long ago. That time where ‘the gate’ broke open, kinda, and because of that, a bunch of off-compasses started to pour through into the rest of the World of Ideas. Not sure if we even cared that much, to be honest. Not even the INGSOCs are all that bad if you get past their weird speaking mannerisms and stuff. But centrists cared, they cared a whole lot, and they needed to find a way to make sure the barrier between the actual compass and the off compass was real, you know?”

“So, they forced you all to seal ‘the gate’ again? Is that why you’re all so cautious?” Homonationalist sounded snark.

“Forced us? No worse, they sent the Realists on us, and then they killed us.”

“Killed you? But how? If they need your weird barrier powers to seal up ‘the gate’ wouldn’t you have been much more useful to them alive?”

“You underestimate the power Realists have, silly silly Homonash!”

James froze up. There were Realists back at the school, the principal had even threatened to set them on him when he resisted his test results. Just his test results, that was enough for him to be threatened like that. 

Nazbol continued, “You see, the Realists entire deal is the fact they can manipulate the forces of nature you know? Well, the forces of nature here, in the World of Ideas. And since, well, Ideologies go back to the World of Ideas when they die? Burnt into the symbols it produces.”

“Sooooo they killed you and manipulated your souls?” 

“No, not souls silly. Just our mindless essence. It’s a lot better of a sealant than forcing an Ideology to use their power, endlessly, for potentially eternity, apparently.”

“You don’t sound too bummed about that.”

“What’s there to be bummed about? If you can fight back? We’re regrowing, and one day we’ll be stronger than those smelly centrists… and whoever they plan on sending at us.”

“You say that with such confidence, how do you know you won’t crumble?” James asked. “I’d be preparing for war already!”

Nazbol shrugged laxly. “We’ve got the barrier and not just that. I know it might look or sound like it. We’re ready, you bet we’re ready.”

“Y-you still don’t have weapons. You don’t have soldiers, what if they come back? You’re weak without a military, you’re-”

James was cut off when Nazbol let out a screaming laugh. “Stop assuming us, the Nazbols, to be weak, silly Nazi. Your single-minded view of strength has really been your detriment, trust me. You haven’t even seen where you are _supposed_ to be living. I wouldn’t judge.” The normally bright purple shade that covered his skin turned suddenly darker, but not out of misery.

Homonationalist tipped his head. “He’s right, you know, you should watch what you say Identitarian.”

A bell rung from somewhere. Was it another room? That trio of Nazbols that were around James earlier immediately came rushing back into the room. Their boots rambling across the wooden floor like stampeding animals. They flooded through another door. Scrambling amongst themselves to get inside of it first.

“Well it looks like the food is ready,” Nazbol said.

-

The so-called dining room was a lot more like a mess hall - one long table with dozens of chairs, chairs more like stalls with no backing to them. There were no separate plates, just a load of food laid out on random points of the table. It was impossible to grab some of it without reaching over the many other Nazbols.

The food looked shockingly appealing, at least, half of the food did. It looked edible rather, which was no mean feat considering nothing had looked that way to James in the past 48 hours. 

These were full plates: full with meat and potatoes, sauces, pilled up with hearty goodness. James couldn’t be telling those jokes about hungry Communists today. These pseudo-commies appeared to not only have food but cooking skill.

Mrs Nazbol was already sitting at the top of the table, there was no sign of Mr Nazbol, sadly. Too busy observing everything around him, James hadn’t realised that even Homonationalist had started eating without a care. 

“So do you really plan on leaving by the end of tonight?” Mrs Nazbol was asking yet more questions.

“Well, duh, I don’t know why you would think otherwise, or keep asking for that matter.”

“We just want to know, okay?”

“She just wants to know,” Nazbol said.

“But you both already know!”

“Nothing wrong with asking, you know?”

Homonationalist jabbed James in the elbow. “Hey, there is nothing wrong with them asking.” His voice was snuffled from all the food that he had stuffed into his mouth. 

James didn’t say anything, he instead eyed a chicken leg that was lying on a plate. So much of the food had gone already, all the Nazbols eating far too fast. James’s stomach was growling uncomfortably. He grabbed it and quickly shoved it in his mouth. 

This place wasn’t his home, but the food had tasted like home. Salty and tender, the skin somewhat crispy but the inside was soft. The warmth was deeply familiar. He couldn’t let the others have any of this, he grabbed a bunch of the chicken, three, four, five pieces all on his plate. 

Speaking with his mouth full of food, James went on to judge the Nazbols, “You appear so excited to see me, all because of my Ideology?!”

The trio of Nazbols giggled, whereas the one he knew came to look at him kindly. 

“Because we just really appreciate you, Identitarian, you really need an explanation for just mere appreciation? Don’t you feel loved? Don’t you want to feel loved?”

_Identitarian. Loved._

He repeated it in his head. Yes, this was something he wanted, desired. After losing everything, there was some hope left. He needed something. But did he need love? He wanted to make it on his own but…

James shoved another bunch of chicken in his mouth. “I don’t know. I don’t even think I need love.”

“Oh come on, look at that face, are you sure you don’t have the tiniest bit of warmth for Lil’Nazbol and his homeland? We do yours, even though you have no awareness of it.”

“No awareness?”

“It’s so easy to tell how much you do not know, but don’t worry, we can help you belong!” 

Looking straight at ‘Lil Nazbol, it looked as if his smile had fangs.

Was that even a serious request?

“Well, I don’t need your help!” James nearly coughed as he felt a chicken bone sliding down his throat.

“Are you really sure? You’re not going to get it elsewhere, you already know what kind of a reputation you have. Can I be brutally honest with you, dear dear Identitarian?” 

Homonationalist had a strange expression as Nazbol was speaking. It was like he was anticipating something. Sitting at the table patiently, he had eaten enough but what he had eaten was hardly a meal. 

_Identitarian. Identitarian._

“Being honest with me is not something I’m scared of.”

“Well, well.” Nazbol tilted his head. “Just so you know, you would never be accepted if you were to go to your own so-called homeland they would immediately get rid of you. Throw you out. You weren’t born there. Your hypothetical oh-so caring family have abandoned you. You would be worthless to them.”

_Identitarian. Identitarian._

Something physical shot through him. 

A crushing pain inside his head.

“What? What?! What do you mean?”

What was that? He didn’t even want this, want this Ideology. He was disgusted by it hours ago. He still couldn’t call himself by his own name. He was only learning. This realisation should have done nothing and yet…

That pain led to rage. 

“You know what I mean. Think about it. You hate outsiders too, why wouldn’t they hate them too? And you happen to be an outsider don’t you, don’t you?”

Violent images flashed through James’s mind. He was fine with his own judgement, but other people’s judgement? Never! If he wasn’t going to beat Nazbol to a pulp, he had to at least to turn the table over, smash something, run out of the room.

“They don’t care about their own like you think they would,” Nazbol kept speaking, “They would even view their own kind as deviants and throw out children who weren’t deemed strong, hmm?” 

He just ran. In any direction.

“You’re broken. That’s why we all love you.” 

There were doors across the room - the one that had entered through, two at the side, one behind him. 

The world started to blur. Noise buzzing. Like insects in his brain. 

All else was fuzzy. It was hard not to give into fury. Nazbol was still talking, he thought. Maybe Homonationalist was talking too. The last thing that Nazbol had said, however, had been enough to push away any more of his speech. Any more of his thoughts.

He bashed against the door behind him instead, first banging against, and then finding the actual doorknob, turning it between his hand. The door wouldn’t open. 

He had to get out of here before he did something reckless: something, praxis inducing.

Bang. Bang. 

“Hey?” the small sound of Homonationalist’s voice broke through the madness. Then he put his hand on him. Homonationalist. Put his hand on James. Identitarian.

“What. What what?”

“Are you okay dude? I think you should return to the table, finish eating.”

“No!”

His bout of anger must have been dying a little, the world stabilising bit by bit. It wasn’t spinning around him anymore.

“Should I go on?” Nazbol’s head was still tilted. His eyes fluttering. He was almost as pleasant as he had when he had first asked them to join him on the journey to his bizarre house.

“No, don’t. Don’t go on. In fact, stop talking. That’s it, you need to stop talking. I’m going to get some fresh air, or not, I’m going to go behind this door, and you’re not going to follow me. That’s right, stay out.”

Homonationalist attempted to hold James’s hand through the distress. Disgusting. He pushed it away.

“I guess I can’t stop you. I’d like you to come back though, I’d want you to come back.” Nazbol stopped smiling, and a face of thunder replaced all expression.

James pushed back on the door, and it creaked open. 

It lead to a hallway, a long hallway. Remarkably long, considering when he had first arrived, the lodge-like building had appeared incredibly small from the outside. There was a door at the other end of the hallway too – so many rooms for a small building. At least there was enough room here for James to just sit and think. Sit and think and be alone. 

If there was something important in here, then why would they want to block this room off with the dining table? Maybe there wasn’t anything important here. He sat just below the actual door frame. His body wasn’t the most intimidating thing in the world, sadly, but it should have been enough to at least block either Nazbol or Homonationalist if they wanted to push the door open. 

There was muttering from the other side of the door, they were already talking again, excluding him. He had to block it out. The floor here was wooden just like the rest of the building, but the actual corridor itself was kind of interesting. Dressed in magenta shaded wallpaper and littered with rows and rows of photos. Black and white in colour, so it was unclear if the figures within them were Ideologies who had gained their colour. They weren’t in the same quadrant as James – he would have been able to tell otherwise.

Not wanting to move from his spot, he peered upwards. The people in the small portraits did indeed seem young, possibly even younger than him. Most of them were smiling. Below each of them was a date, a date of birth? No? Those dates were too late to be a date of birth. If they weren’t full Ideologies yet then what would the date even mean?

As he stared at the portraits, he heard a shuffling from a distance, like a clanging of pans, high-pitched and metallic. So this was a room people still used? 

James froze again – weakling that he was. Those Nazbols, they had some hope of being real authoritarians at first, but they were wilder than any Ideology that the Identitarian had come across before. They were hiding something from him, they had to be. 

He reached upwards, grappling the air as he stood up. The clanging sounds drawing closer and closer to him. He was tempted to cry out ‘who’s there’ but didn’t, he didn’t want to speak to any other Nazbols. He didn’t want to see any other Nazbols.

The metallic noises stopped and were replaced with the sound of footsteps and then nothing. There was not another Nazbol at the door, but someone else. An Ideology identical to James. 

Another Nazi.

One on the Nazbol premises. 

His colour was extremely pale. He was sick, unlike any Ideology he had ever seen. Sick as in disconnected. Geographically, he was not far from home, the environment he must have been something freakish. He wasn’t even an old Ideology, his resistances should have been stronger than that. His eyes dark, an empty tray in one hand and the other limb dangling empty, whatever they had done, they had made it, so he wasn’t living as an Ideology.

And yet, this was the only person, the only induvial that James had ever come across bearing his Ideology. He felt happy, just be in his witness. That was the only way he could to describe it – happy. He felt like smiling but he couldn’t. Perhaps at a push he felt protected? But that didn’t make any logical sense, but neither did his sense of happiness. Ideologies were supposed to find a sense of welcomeness when they were among their own sort, one which was even more intense if they weren’t used to living with those people.

This sense of newfound, partly uncontrolled happiness was at deep opposition with the fear he felt, both for himself and the figure in front of him. It was uncomfortable feeling this much fear, to feel his stomach turn so much. There wasn’t even anything in front of him he had to fight, even if he sensed that one of his own people deserved their fate. 

If he was in an even worse position than James, it was likely he rightfully deserved it. 

“Oh, did they get you too?”

James turned, kicked the door open. 

He leapt over the table. Homonationalist, Nazbol, the others screaming at him. 

He didn’t pay any attention – he could only flee. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was an intense chapter!
> 
> I'm sorry if my length between updates is getting a bit longer, uni has started again so I have a bit less time!
> 
> The next chapter features Ancap as finds himself in Ancapistan and explores an entirely new world (also Stompy is in this chapter).


	15. Shopping Trip!

The city was itself a force of nature.

The concept of nature itself ambiguous inside the World of Ideas. Here there was no distinct binary between plants that grew in soil and the complex machines that pulled their roots. Both were equally natural since nature was anything contained within the symbolic.

Ancapistan was more than symbolic; it was the symbol.

His symbol.

It belonged to him. He belonged somewhere.

The city was so much more real now the screen between himself and the car had parted. The physical barrier had been enough so that the full glory of the place – the symbol wasn’t felt in the same way through any kind of filter. 

Now he had left the car park, he had reached Ancapistan ground zero. He wasn’t just observing images from the view of a mobile phone or a car window. He could feel it in his bones - a physical presence, enchanting, what others might call… divine.

Seeing a place that he was supposed to be so entwined with for the first time had left him without air. No, seriously, he had nearly hyperventilated. And to think he had been away from his true purpose for so long. That he had been in a place so dark, literally, and metaphorically.

He wondered how many others had felt this way or if this sensation was unique to him - an Ideology who spent his entire former life trapped in the opposite quadrant. As far as he understood, it was rare. Some would move into a neighbouring quadrant or between two moderate areas, but to become an extremist was outstanding. Well, perhaps less so now than it was years ago, but still, a feared result that only few would be faced with.

Maybe it wasn’t actually something to be feared after all. If you were already familiar with the place you belong, already entwined with it, then you would never face an experience like this.

Just a few days ago, Ancap wasn’t even friendly with a single LibRight; now, he was surrounded by other Ancaps.

Ancap’s whom he had never met before wandering the streets of the golden city. Ancap eyed their every detail, from the graceful way that they walked to the finer trims of their clothing. His focus was so intense that he could tell the exact gemstones they had on their suits. Was that some sapphire? A diamond on someone’s coat? 

Ancap would have loved to have diamonds. 

There were so many shops, selling anything you could ever imagine. Things Ancap never thought even existed or were supposed to exist. The conversation around him was real, buzzing with cheers and callings, celebrations of the self. Nonsense chatter, not the kind of hardened practical talk that Ancap was used to hearing. Socialists seemed to laugh so rarely.

An unsleeping city, sunlight embedded in every object. Nothing was allowed to fade into darkness; obscurity was forbidden. Everything was visible; everyone was visible because they demanded to be visible.

Ancap wanted to be visible too. 

Well, maybe not in these clothes. He still didn’t want to look poor!

The hefty amount of cash stashed within his pocket would make that wish come true. Mostly, he still probably wouldn’t be able to afford diamonds on his coat. That was for future Ancap. He was already drawing so many images in his mind of future ambitions. Ambition. He never used to have that.

He had to start small, think about things that were possible in the now, but Ancap was realizing that he was very much someone who lived in the future. 

The smell in the air was that of smog and salt, cheese, meat, chicken… oh gosh, the food!

Ancap remembered that none of them had eaten through the journey. It was probably ‘late’ by now, at least in the terms that he usually thought of as late. The shops, community gardens in his hometown would have all been closed at this time. 

But here, the night did not exist, and thus it was never too late to grab a bite to eat.

Minarchist, Hoppean and Libertarian were already far ahead of him. Wandering the streets with such confidence, they must have been here dozens, hundreds, if not thousands of times. Ancap really had to stop himself from getting jealous again. Minarchist’s little snake friend, Stompy, appeared to be smelling the air with his tongue, a little restless. It was hard to tell how smart the little guy was; did he know he was in Ancapistan? Was he happy?

Minarchist took in a breath of air, turning to look at Hoppean. “Well, we made it!” 

Stompy bobbled side to side, black eyes staring at Hoppean, giving him equal attention. 

“Hmph, well, I shouldn’t have doubted you.”

“Hey! Ancap!” 

A little dazed from everything going on around him, Minarchist’s loud voice reminded that this was indeed reality.

“Y-yes?”

“Where do you wanna go first?” 

“You’re asking me? Really?”

“Well, you’ve never been here before; you might as well get first pick of where we get to go.”

All this possibility, and he was the one who got the choose? What a position to be in. Yet, it wasn’t much of a choice if he couldn’t stop thinking about how hungry he was.

“Food, we should go and get food!”

“Oh, now you’re talking Ancap, we could go to that place with the caviar and the butlers with those gold dresses? Oh yeah, that’s the place…” 

Stompy drooled in unison. Could snakes even drool?

“Don’t be silly, Ancap still gotta buy his new suit; he doesn’t have money to feed your excessive tastes, Minarchist,” Hoppean jested.

“Well, I suppose we could get some fast food if that will be better…”

“Isn’t Ancapistan famous for its fast food? I’m sure Ancap would love to taste some of it.”

Fast Food. Ancap can’t remember the last time that he had fast food. It must have been one day after school around the Overton Window. When he was just so tempted to have something outside of his usual. He wouldn’t have been meeting with friends or anything. From his memories, it seemed like it was indeed different from what he usually ate but apparently not enough for him to remember how it tasted either. He knew that it was pleasant, at least. 

Ancapistan, however, was utterly famous for its fast food and infamous too. Apparently, it was rumoured to have some… ill health effects on other members of the political spectrum. He had only heard praise from the few other LibRights he had actually gotten to briefly speak to, though. Not that he had taken them seriously: destined Socialist and all. 

“Oh, sure. I’d really really like it too!” 

“Really, really? I guess we’ll have to get some now.” Minarchist laughed.

“I mean, the nearest fast food place is Ancatistan Eats? As in, one of the fifty stores that they’ve littered around Ancapistan?” 

“Haven’t been there in a while, actually; it’s not that bad,” Libertarian stated.

“I kinda like it there; it’s good, you know, for fast food.” Minarchist nodded back at Libertarian.

“Seriously? I can’t look at that stupid yellow cat mascot with a straight face anymore. I’m starting to understand why everyone outside this place seems to want to mock it so much.”

“The food is edible, and you don’t mind, do you, Ancap? Plus, it’s kind of a staple of this place.” Minarchist asked.

“Staple of this place, ugh,” Hoppean interrupted, “I could live without having to hear that ‘meow meow’ shit in my ears again.”

“We’ll sit outside if it’s such a bother!” 

You would have thought Stompy was sniffing the air, but Ancap perceived him as consciously poking his tongue out at Hoppean to mock him.

“To be honest, I’m just hungry, so I really don’t mind where we eat. Honest!” 

Stompy curled back around Minarchist’s shoulders.

“Oh, come on, Hoppean, we don’t have to go there next time; we need to show our friend more about what Ancapistan is known for, mm kay?”

Minarchist started to walk away, Hoppean had to follow along. Ancap supposed that whatever defiance was left inside of him had left when Minarchist had made his decision. Hoppean was kinda lucky that he still had those large wing casts on his back; he probably would have fallen over running at that speed otherwise. Even with those casts, Hoppean’s back must have been hurting like hell.

Libertarian returned to Ancap, who was still overwhelmed by everything going on around him. Libertarian smiled and straightened up his jacket. 

“Hey, Ancap, don’t mind them too much. They might be incredibly close, but they can never get anything done without arguing about it first; sounds kinda counterproductive, but I think that’s why they’ve stayed by one another’s side. Did you know? Their parents actually made a bet before ‘The Navigator’? One that Hoppean would be a Minarchist and that Minarchist would be a Hoppean? Ha, imagine that, the role reversal.”

“Oh? I could never imagine Minarchist having wings or being oh so moody for that matter.”

“Neither can I.”

Hoppean and Minarchist had run down the pavement; in their chase, neither of them had noticed that they had left Ancap and Libertarian behind. Not for long, though, since Hoppean had eventually screamed out to them to “Hurry up,” with a hint of panic in his voice upon reaching the restaurant. 

Ancap approached with Libertarian by his side. Hoppean was already looking impatient. The restaurant’s lights weren’t anything unique when compared to anything else around him, but he was still kind of enthralled by it.

It was really, intensely yellow. The entire city was yellow, he was yellow, but this was the yellowy-ist yellow he had ever seen. It was a sickly yellow, yet, it still made him feel even more hungry.

The image was of a giant cat face with low eyelids and an unbearable smirk. The cat head was also wearing a fedora – a stereotypical image of LibRights everywhere. From this distance: the interior seemed like a mixture between Ancap’s conjured image of a fancy eatery and that fast food place he must have visited once. The inside appeared almost entirely yellow, too, fancy cloth on each of the tables, leather stool chairs and a checked floor with white and mustard tiles. 

“Thought you were the hungry one Ancap?” Hoppean giggled.

“I am, but you ran off!” 

“We did, didn’t we?” Minarchist said. “Sorry about that gotta motivate Hoppean sometimes. He’s lazy.”

“I am not lazy!” 

“Let’s just, all go inside,” Minarchist pointed toward the restaurant, and at the same time, his snakey companion aimed its little head in the same direction.

Here the smells of all that fatty fatty food was so much more vibrant. It clung to the throat and stuck there like a thorned plant or sticky honey. Whatever was being made here, poison or not, Ancap desired to eat it. It was spacious and surprisingly empty for it being in an open place in a busy city. There were a few yellow figures mulling around, having conversations, as well a short queue going toward the main desk. The music was louder than the conversations that were happening around him, a kind of cheery, repetitive beat with cat noises littered throughout. 

The heating was even warmer here than the outside as well, but not in a bothersome way. Apparently, LibRights wanted their homes and buildings even warmer than the outside was. 

Minarchist stuffed menus into everyone’s hands. “I’ll go order once you’re all done picking something. Though I’m guessing you are getting the usual Hoppean?”

“Same as I always get.” Hoppean handed back his menu, almost appearing to throw it. 

The menu looked so so long. Ancap couldn’t even understand how someone could have a ‘regular’ in this place which seemed to cook everything. How could the employees even keep track of this? Where were they getting all these ingredients from? Ingredients he had never heard of probably.

Libertarian also handed his menu back. “I’ll have a marg-cat-rita pizza guess, fries on the side, oh and a glass of lemon juice.” 

“Thank you, Libertarian. Have you made a choice yet, Ancap?”

The menu still felt endless. 

“Uhhhh…” Ancap looked at Libertarian. “I’ll have the same.”

“Okay, sure.” Minarchist grabbed the menu off of Ancap. “You guys can go and find a seat. I’ll wait here so I can get the food.”

“Stompy, get food,” the snake squeaked.

“No, Stompy, you’re a snake; you don’t have arms. I’m an Ideology I have arms.” 

The small snake looked down as if it was moping.

Away from Minarchist, the three of them found a table at the corner by the window. The leather seats, the tablecloth was also all yellow. The cloth was knitted with fine detail, flowers, sunglasses and that little yellow cat that appeared on the sign outside. Ancap wondered if this obsession with yellow was part of the brand symbolism or if every eatery in Ancapistan was this enthusiastic about the colour.

Ancap watched as so many passers-by wandered around outside of the window. He was on the lookout for gemstones, jewellery, precious metals. Fantasies. He couldn’t indulge for too long, Minarchist appearing again a few minutes later. 

He sat next to Hoppean, pushing him aside. “I got a chicken deluxe and… a great party bowl of sharing nachos!”

“Sharing nachos? For us? All of us?” Hoppean asked.

“Yup!”

“That’s awfully nice of you to share like that,” Libertarian said.

“You might as well be generous now and again, hmmm?”

Hoppean tutted.

Twenty minutes after that: food.

So much of it.

The pizzas were massive, like the size of wheels. Covered in bubbling cheese which rose up from the yellow-y sauce they have lavished onto it. The dough was also yellow, either also oozing with cheese or artificially coloured that way. The hamburger that Hoppean had ordered was also stacked high, way too high. Hoppean was so skinny, he couldn’t have been used to eating like this so often, could he?

Minarchist’s face seemed genuinely happy to see the absolute boat full of nachos, each one of them drenched in the similar golden cheese that they had littered the pizza with. There was also an odd few vegetables scattered about the nacho bowl, but those two were drenched in the cheese with only the smallest bit of green on them visible.

Ancap picked up the pizza delicately. It was soft in his hand as if it were made of rubber, squishy. As he pressed his finger on the cheesy layer, even with the slightest touch, the cheese started to wrap around him and get stuck. 

As he took a bite, the taste was between chemicals and the richest salty flavour Ancap had ever tasted. It melted so easily inside his mouth and eventually felt like glue. Very tasty glue, but still glue. He had trouble shutting his own mouth as he gulped. A little alien in its flavour, but still by all accounts delicious.

“Are you sure you should be feeding you snake nachos?” 

Hoppean was looking at Minarchist scathingly, as the yellow/blue Ideology was stuffing his snake’s mouth full of nacho shards. Stompy was gobbling them up, eyes closing after each mouthful. 

“I don’t see anything wrong with it; he seems to like it?” 

Libertarian pointed at Hoppean, then the snake. “Well, he is supposed to eat coins, or like, cash money, but a little bit of fast food won’t hurt him too much.”

“Are you sure?” 

“I had to do my Libertopia research if I’m gonna plan on living there one day – including its famous snakes. They are rather fascinating.” Libertarian nodded. 

Stompy’s dark eye shone, staring at Minarchist, the bond between them increasing. 

“I’d love to have a little snake-like Stompy one day. Look at him, so friendly, so ready for business.”

“Stompy! Business!” The snake rubbed against Minarchist’s face, who laughed in response.

“Well, not quite yet, Stompy, you don’t have the clothes for business. I need to get you something special.”

“Suit? Business suit? For Stompy?”

“Yes! A snake needs to dress for board meetings, to y’know?”

_ Snakes? In suits? _

If the snakes could talk, then, Ancap supposed, they could be able to wear suits too. Anything was possible when there was LibRights involved.

“Oh, oh oh oh,” Minarchist’s face was still full of cheese as he spoke, “I know a place, I know a place, a place that sells like, Ideology clothes and also snake clothes, and I think Ancap could buy something there with the amount he has.” Minarchist only gulped after finishing his sentence. 

“A place that sells clothes for Ideologies and… snakes?” Ancap asked as he gazed over at the sharing bowl of nachos, it seemed to be getting low on chips already, and Minarchist’s hand was in the bowl again, so much for ‘sharing’. 

Ancap picked up a few of the chips; still drizzled with cheese, he placed one in his mouth. The artificial cheese tasted almost identical to the pizza. Ancap still enjoyed the taste despite the lack of variety.

“Yeah, yeah, I know you’re new here, but it’s pretty common. One day, I’ll get a matching set of clothes for Stompy and me. It’s considered very professional.” Minarchist smiled so many yellow specks in his teeth.

“R-really?” Ancap asked.

“You’ll see! Maybe you’ll get a financial advisor too one day!”

“Advisor! Me!” Stompy shouted.

“How far is it from here?” Libertarian asked.

“Not too far! But, then again, we should plan on going quickly, which means…” Minarchist grabbed the entire rest of the nacho bowl. “We better eat up this food soon!”

“Hey!” Hoppean complained, “I only got to eat a few of those!”

“Uh, then maybe you should have put your hand in the bowl more?”

Hoppean rolled his eyes and then got up from the table. “I’ll go and get the bill.”

Minarchist burped. He had eaten nearly an entire bowl of nachos and a whole chicken burger. Ancap had eaten only half of his pizza, maybe five slices and had barely touched the neon-coloured fries. He didn’t have that kind of appetite – not yet anyway. He kind of felt bad for wasting that pizza.

With the shuffle of footsteps, Hoppean had returned. “It’s… $200.”

“$200!” Ancap screamed.

“Like $50 dollars each, some of Ancapistan Eats branches are even more than this. This is a good branch.”

$50. He had enough for that.

-

The clothing store that Minarchist said was nearby actually felt like miles. It was at least refreshing to Ancap to see more than just the colour yellow, the signs having all sorts of colours on them. Pink, green, blue, all of them screaming for attention, Ancap’s attention. 

Ancap was largely alerted by their arrival to the store when Minarchist squealed in delight, Stompy opening his mouth wide in response.

“Here it is! Quick, everyone inside!”

Minarchist practically jumped as he crossed through the glass doors; everyone else wandered through behind him. 

This place was bright, beautiful, and thank goodness, not all one colour like that fast food place. Instead, each wall was lined with all different types of clothing, costumes, outfits of all kinds. It wasn’t just a store selling just fancy suits like Minarchist had made it out to be. Each of said walls had a different colour behind it, but not bright neon ones. It actually rested Ancap’s eyes a little.

“Well, where do we start?” Minarchist asked the group.

Libertarian, Ancap and then Hoppean were all standing next to one another. Hoppean himself twisted his head slightly and spoke before Ancap could, “I think Ancap should go first. The snake suits are on the other side of the store.” 

Ancap beamed. 

“That’s a good idea, Hoppean, now what do you think Ancap’s colours might be?”

“Well, first of all, he’s yellow, we’re all yellow, all four of us.”

“Hm, you have a point; let’s just go and take a look.”

Ancap was shepherded over to some clothing racks, and he once again found himself overwhelmed by the choice, and everything on this hypothetical menu didn’t have to be yellow. 

“So, is there anything that catches your eye?” asked Libertarian. 

_ All of it. _

“I’d like something that sparkles, please…” 

“Oh, don’t say please, it’s your own money,” Hoppean said.

“Hey, what about this one, it’s pretty sparkly.” Minarchist pulled out a blue coloured suit with silverly flecks on it. It certainly looked like something Minarchist himself would wear. 

“Yeah, yeah, that one super good.”

“Hey, wait, Ancap, this is the first one that you’ve seen. Maybe take some time?”

Libertarian tapped on Ancap’s shoulder and then Hoppean’s. “What if we just suggested a bunch of suits, and then Ancap could try some on?”

“They would really let me try on something this expensive?”

“Well, yeah, of course. Even fancier places let you do this. They even let Minarchist try on the clothes, and you know how messy he is…”

“I’m not messy! Well, not that messy!”

Hoppean smirked. 

Minarchist lifted the suit off the rack and folded it neatly in his hands. Stompy looked at the sparkly blue cloth and patted it with his little snake head.

Ancap started to shuffle through all of the clothing in front of him. Each of them had a material that was so incredibly soft, many of them silk, some cotton, other satin. But he couldn’t spend too long fawning over each and every piece of clothing that he saw. He had to pick a few that he really liked.

_ Glitter, sparkles. Something that shined. _

The next thing that caught his eye, a violet coloured outfit, this time with bronze looking sparkles. This one also had little bronze buttons on the top of the collar. Ancap immediately pulled it off the rack. 

“I like this one!”

“Purple? Really Ancap? That’s a dramatic choice.” Hoppean suggested.

“I might as well make a statement; it’s my first Ancapistan suit after all.” 

“He’s right, you know, nothing wrong with making a statement,” Minarchist said.

Ancap thought he’d pick out a third suit, something more simple in comparison the dazzling purple one that he had picked out before. 

As he sorted through all of the clothing, he found something right at the very back of the first rack, a simple yet calming colour this time, a beige suit with brown stripes down each of the sides and around the sleeves. It wasn’t the sort that wouldn’t catch attention from anyone – the only thing that could have been considered remarkable was a soft covering of copper specks. 

It wasn’t dramatic and was somewhat far from what Ancap had originally pictured himself wearing, but he was willing to try it on if just to see how it looked. That, and it almost reminded him of his old life in a way.

“Just these three.” 

Minarchist passed over the other clothing that Ancap had picked out. They were all heavy in Ancap’s arms. He feared that he would topple and fall over under the weight of all that cloth! His eyes peeking over the top, he looked out for anything that might have looked like changing rooms.

And there they were, right at the end of the store. Likely past the snake clothing section anyway. Ancap made a little pointing gesture as to indicate to everyone else where the changing rooms actually were. They followed him until he entered the changing rooms themselves. Though, it was clear how both Minarchist and Stompy were a little distracted by the very flattering snake attire on the other side of the room. 

Even the changing room itself was decked out! Plush red carpet, three whole mirrors and velvet curtains around the drapes. It was cosy in here, non-garish. 

He’d thought he’d try the blue suit first. Since it was the first one given to him, and, after all, Minarchist had suggested it, and Minarchist probably had some good taste at least. He wasn’t entirely sure if sky blue was really his colour, but perhaps his friends would have a better say? 

He emerged, new blue suit sparkling, catching the light. He had never dressed like this before, like who he was supposed to be. It wasn’t a humble piece of clothing. It was garish and bright and would make any centrist look twice, let alone an AuthLeft. 

Ancap smirked to himself, unaware that his friends were already picking apart the costume in question. 

“No, that’s not you, Ancap,” Hoppean said.

“Yeah, I think cyan is just not your colour; I’m so sorry,” Minarchist suggested.

Hoppean gave a snide look to the blue/yellow Ideology. “Sorry, Minarchist isn’t the best at being stylish.”

“You have some other options, right? Try one of those?” Libertarian queried. “Yeah, I’m sorry, not sure the brightest of blues is really fitting.” 

Minarchist’s snake head was turned away. Either Stompy was still distracted by snake wear, or even he didn’t like what Ancap was wearing. 

It was exciting, and yet, perhaps not quite perfect. Ancap stomped his foot on the ground in frustration, though the illusion not quite yet shattered. He had a few other chances. He still had two other options left and his own choices at that.

Ancap didn’t want to dwell on their judgements too much. He might even get to feel more like himself with the options that he had actually picked out for himself. The question was, should he try the purple or the beige suit next?

He went back into the changing room; he could either try on the purple suit next or the beige one. After the blue one looked so garish, perhaps the beige one would be a better fit? But it still looked so much like the clothes he was already wearing, colour wise anyway. Sure, it still had a bit of that sparkle, glow that Ancap wanted, but it was subtle. But it was safer; he’d blend in a little at home if he was wearing this. 

Perhaps he’d try on this one next?

He hung up the blue one and pushed the bright purple one aside. 

The beige suit was just as comfortable as the other one. Though it didn’t quite stand out like Ancap wanted, and, oddly enough, it made him look even more yellow than before. Not that the reflection of his ‘Ideological colour’ was a bad thing, just strange. 

He stepped outside. 

“Huh, now that one, it does fit you.”

“Wow, you actually are better at choosing clothes than me!” 

Ancap was shocked, after the negative reception of the first costume, that the more tame one would get a better reception. This was Ancapistan. Wasn’t everyone supposed to stand out? Then again, Hoppean looked rather bland, even his daytime clothing looking like pyjamas. Of course, he would approve.

“I gotta admit that’s a stylish decision, Ancap. You gonna get that one?” Libertarian smiled warmly. 

Ancap looked down at the shirt. Little copper buttons were on it glimmering, even in this room of so many colours. It didn’t have the same effect on him as wearing the last one did. It might have been neon and ugly, but it at least made him feel like a real Ancap, you know? This just made him feel like some kind of Socialist + 

Like a fancier version of who he was back before the ‘The Navigator’. It wasn’t entirely wrong but, Ancap had to abandon this life eventually and having some blend of his past and his future together represented by brown coloured clothing just wasn’t what he wanted.

“No, I don’t think I will.”

“Huh, really? Are you sure?” 

“I’m sure!”

“Hey, you know, despite my mistakes, style is a big thing here. You gotta be trendy!” Minarchist said.

Ancap sighed. If he was supposed to be trendy or whatever, then shouldn’t his outfit have been even more garish? More eye-catching, excessive, individualist. 

“Well, I have another idea,” he said as he turned away from them and went back into the changing room.

The purple one, this had to work.

It had been the most obnoxious one he had picked of the three. The most audacious. It had screamed out to him, and he perhaps, today, might too make it part of his identity. 

_ This is it. _

It wasn’t just purple but golden, so golden. Gold like the stars, then purple like a darkening sky or a firework in the dawn sky. The golden trims along the edges could have also been seen as clouds, little clouds of inverted colours fading into the twilight. 

There were so many other connections with that colour, too: purple. Ignoring supposed Ideological ones, it had also come to resemble messages of royalty, indulgence. 

Although not imbued with amethyst as Ancap ideally would have wanted, this was good enough, beyond good enough, for now. 

And, to that, Ancap’s hopes were answered.

“Oh my gosh!” Minarchist shouted, Stompy’s wide eyes in equal shock. “You look so awesome, Ancap!”

“Me? Awesome? Really?”

“Yep!” Minarchist chimed. 

“Huh, purple really is the colour for you, wouldn’t you know?” Hoppean still held a cynical gaze toward Minarchist, even whilst complimenting Ancap’s fashion choices.

“I could never wear anything like that myself. But you’re an Ancap, the most extreme of LibRights. I think you were made for something like this.” Even Libertarian’s eyes had grown wide.

“I need to buy this. Right now.” 

-

“You’re really wearing this out the store, sir?” The cashier, who only appeared the same age as they all did, was staring at Ancap. Apparently, this wasn’t common practice in Ancapistan or something, but he really didn’t care.

“Absolutely!”

“Alright, if you insist.”

Instead of scanning the clothing, the assistant simply tapped into the computer whilst she searched for the item. “That will be… $580?” 

“I have $580!” Ancap cheerfully decreed. 

The cashier still didn’t seem impressed.

Note by note, Ancap threw the money onto the counter table. Any array of notes, 10s, 20s, 30s, more. Counting them was meaningless to Ancap; he just wanted to own his new clothes for good. It was the cashier’s job to count the notes anyway. Why should he need to be careful?

Grumbling, the cashier gathered up the money. She wasn’t bothering to count it either. Even if Ancap overpaid, he didn’t care. If he overpaid, it just proved even more that he is worthy of buying this even more. Rich people had money to waste.

“No, Stompy, wait! Don’t try and get away now!”

As Ancap was picking up the paper bag that he had stuffed his old clothing into, he turned around to see Minarchist running around half of the store.

“Stompy, wait no longer! Stompy need business wear!” a voice squeaked.

“Then wait for me, don’t just go…”

Minarchist stopped in his track, the rest of the group gather around him; in front of Minarchist was Stompy, who was scurrying along the top shelf throwing aside various ties and coats onto the ground. Whilst Minarchist was watching his little snake, Libertarian had taken up the role of catching all of the falling expensive items.

“Catch!” Stompy screamed as he jumped from the top of the shelf, holding some kind of midnight coloured cloth in his small snake jaws.

Minarchist rushed forward, opening his hands to make a snake landing spot. Whilst in Minarchist’s arms, the snake used its mouth so that it was able to pull the cloth object over its head, using the end of its tail in order to do up the buttons.

Stompy was now incredibly dapper for a snake.

“Yes, Stompy shall do business in this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is a reference to an old-ish one-shot I wrote several months ago, and Ancatistan eats is, of course, a reference to Garfield eats ;)
> 
> Our next chapter features the start of the school fight! Can the leftists hold their ground against the right? Mutualist also finds himself breaking further...


	16. Our First Battle!

The leftists had all worked out the directions for entering that so-called ‘secret’ area of the school - the area which housed all of the displaced students, those that had lost their homes. Well, ‘worked out’ was a bit of a stretch. In this case, Anqueer had been visiting Anpac now and again, so they basically knew the way pretty well, and it wasn’t as if this area was well hidden anyway. They had put the stairwell entrance in an area that many students were aware of. They were told not to tell anyone about it, but of course, they told everyone, anarchists break rules. 

The landing was incredibly small, regrettably, hardly room for some kind of school fight to break out. Nobody would even see the justice to be delivered. Just a straight line of carpeted floor and a staircase at one end, opposite several sets of doors. Bleak and cramped. 

Ancom almost started to doubt if qui could even fit several leftists onto the landing, especially Commie. 

“Are you sure he’s here?” Commie asked. 

“Yes, this where all the abandoned Ideologies are!” 

Ancom looked up at Commie; it was weird seeing him again. The two of them were so distanced in their emotional bond, but their political one was still strong, both leftists on the same mission, anarchy notwithstanding.

Facing an enemy, now that was something that Ancom hadn’t done before. Qui had always dreamed about it. Dreamed about allies, about enemies who qui would be able to tear apart. Somewhat violent fantasies, yes, but they gave quem a sense of justice, joy. These fantasies weren’t just for quem. Ancom knew that whatever qui was doing, it was always for someone else too. Ancom never liked to think of quemselves as selfish. What was the point of a justice filled fantasy if it didn’t involve the actual justice it was attempting to serve?

In this situation, Ancom would be protecting all of cuius other Anarchist friends. Anqueer and Mutualist had also turned up to the fight, as did one of Commie’s new ‘comrades’. But, in Ancom’s eyes, qui wasn’t just trying to protect those around quem but, to another extent, the whole school.

There was always a risk going to a centrist school; Ancom had known this from the beginning. Ancom had known that a fight was likely to break out at some point in cuius future between qui and the far more unsavoury right-wing figures that might have emerged out of ‘The Navigator’. Of all of those figures, Nazis had to be some of the most unsavoury of all of them. 

Ancom wondered how well the supposed Nazi had prepared. Ancom quemselves had tried to make sure that qui was as ready as possible. Qui wasn’t always the type to prep this way. To be frank, sometimes Ancom felt a little unmotivated from time to time. Sometimes all qui would do after a long day at centrist school would be browsing the internet, do some battle cats roleplaying, maybe watch some tv if qui wasn’t knee-deep in a flame war on Idtter, But after receiving that news from Commie, Ancom knew that qui couldn’t slack. 

Qui had made sure that qui had eaten well, gotten ample sleep (no staying up till 4am for this Ancom) and had even trained cuius weapon skills on some of the property on the Overton outskirts. Mostly disused buildings, maybe the outside of one or two big businesses that deserved it. Ancom felt powerful. Very powerful. This was just a small school fight, but it was going to set up what cuius life was going to be later down the line.

This had to be perfect. Qui knew that qui couldn’t lose. The leftists couldn’t show that they would let an AuthRight win like this, especially when all of cuius leftists far out-numbered their AuthRight enemy.

“Say, Commie?”

“What?”

“Don’t you think there are too many people waiting around here? Don’t you want to wait elsewhere?”

“We are all fighting the same man! We may as well strike him as soon as he appears?”

Ancom rolled cuius eyes. “There is hardly any room in this corridor. How are we going to use our Ideological abilities in such a tight space? I need space to swing this baseball bat, you know?”

“But we can destroy him easily if we all attack him at once!”

“What if he’s much more of a challenge to take down than you think?”

“Then we need to think of more tactics, Commie.” Ancom flipped some of cuius brown-green hair away from cuius eye.

“How much tactics do we need if we have strength? And resilience?” 

“Even if this only one member of the far-right today, then what about the future, Commie?” 

“You’re talking about the future, Ancom?”

As Ancom looked up at Commie, qui noticed the massive hammer that he was holding, as was his other left-wing companion. Ancom couldn’t tell if they were supposed to be used for work or for combat. These were communists, though, so they could have easily had been for both. 

“The members of the far-right… you’ll find them everywhere, one day you might be facing armies. So many fascists to bash in the head, we need to assess their weaknesses now.”

“Tsh. I just wanted to hit him until he bled. None of this fancy plotting for the greater good, Ancom.”

“If you wanted to plan this attack, of course, you care about the greater good, Commie. Or, at least, you wished you did.”

“I thought it would be an excellent chance at praxis!”

“Is that all?”

“I was also training comrades. We all must train and learn from each other in order to develop our strength!”

“Develop your strength for the future, aren’t I right?” Ancom giggled at Commie’s stubbornness.

“Yes, but again, I do not see this as some grand movement toward progress or something that may someday make it so that I can change the World of Ideas someday by purging it of so-called evil.”

“You sound bitter about that, Commie.”

“I am not bitter!”

“He’s bitter,” Anqueer said, also playing their part in reminding Commie what he should have been fighting for.

“Haha! Heck yeah, Anqueer!” Ancom smiled up at Anqueer.

“Don’t be so loud! Are we going to smash his face in or not!?”

“That depends, Commie. Are we gonna follow my great advice or not?”

“What exactly are you suggesting now?”

Ancom hummed and tilted cuius head. “What if me and Anqueer and Mutualist waited around here, but, you see, we let him get away, and whilst on the last once of his strength, you and your… friend take him down in the actual school complex. See, everyone can see how he deserved it!”

“That sounds drastic, for a bit of attention, Ancom. This was never about attention.”

“Heh, think about it, though,” Anqueer said, “Some of those more moderate lefties might see what we’re doing. They might even join us.”

“Exactly!”

“You are but an idealist, Ancom.”

“I’m not!”

“Of course, you are; every anarchist is.”

“We have actual dreams, Commie. All you do is ramble about economics. You don’t even care about the people.”

“Care about the people?! How dare you suggest that we don’t care about the people!”

“You don’t care about them enough to show them what matters!”

“This is what matters, Ancom? This!”

“Yes and –”

“Oh, be quiet, please! We came here with one mission, and I’d, rather like it if we uh, dealt with it.” Mutualist’s voice started off loud but had withered away with each word he had spoken. His words echoed. His jittering had been getting no better.

Ancom was overjoyed to be joined by cuius fellow Anarchist’s were joining quem in this endeavour, although Mutualist himself appeared very enthusiastic about the whole school fight idea, Mutualist was looking worse than yesterday, fluxing in and out of reality. Ancom had avoided telling him.

Ancom felt deeply sorry for Mutualist, almost enough for quem to draw back and make this whole thing more simple, give up this passion that was driving quem so because qui cared…

That was until there was a knock at the door.

“Is he getting out?!” Commie yelled.

Ancom clenched cuius bat, Anqueer clenched their fists, Commie lifted his hammer. 

“Well, come out, you bitch! Show your disgusting face!” Ancom screamed.

The banging continued until the doorframe bashed against the wall. Except, it wasn’t a Nazi standing there; it was someone,  _ something  _ else.

Another AuthRight Ideology it looked like, one that, for some reason, seemed to be wearing an awful lot of lip gloss and nail polish - Their clothing bright purple and their skin close to indigo than a blue. The Ideology dusted off their jacket before cracking their knuckles and glaring at the leftists maliciously.

“But you’ll have to get through me first!”

_ Who was this? _

_ Who was this supposed to be? _

No matter.

Whoever they were, they were asking for a fight. 

They also wanted to defend whatever blue man that was in the room behind them, that Nazi… 

An apologiser, Ancom could barely contain cuius rage. The bat in cuius hand trembling, Ancom jumped forward, cuius shoes skidding along the carpet. 

_ Commie was right. There is no use for planning today. _

Qui had to destroy them.

Ancom swung the back in an attempt to hit the strange fascist entity across the head, but the indigo creature dodged out the way. Ancom landed on the wall, qui stood against it and caught cuius breath.

Anqueer and Commie started to move into action. Commie thrust the hammer onto the ground. The Indigo thing rolled underneath the weaponry while Anqueer missed a punch and groaned.

Out of the corner of cuius eye, Ancom saw Commie’s light-coloured friend flee. Mutualist was standing there, conflicted, at least; that’s how it looked to Ancom. Unless he was plotting, or worse.

After catching cuius breath, Ancom leapt off the wall. The bat still clinging to quem like an extension of cuius body. The indigo entity had scrambled up from the floor, also looking a little tired – a bit weaker.

Commie reclaimed his hammer from the ground. Anqueer turned around and stomped their foot onto the floor. The room felt as if it was shaking. 

Ancom’s first instincts were to chase after them, and yet, Ancom was so close to the door, that door, and qui knew who, what was behind that door. Qui could swing that door open right now, or smash it open, break it, and threaten the actual Nazi that was hiding inside.

Commie’s hammer swung backwards. It could have almost hit quem as well. The entire thing thick, heavy, metal. Something that would deliver a much powerful blow than Ancom’s baseball bat would. Ancom had confidence in cuius baseball bat though, it was flexible, almost graceful. Anarcho-Communists did have a way with weaponry. A skill. But it was unknown whether it was ability or myth.

Huffing, the Indigo figure attempted to run, nearly tripping as they headed toward the stairs. 

“Don’t get away!” Anqueer screamed as they chased after them. 

Anqueer pounded their fists together and then attempted to swing one of them at the Indigo Ideology, causing them to scream as they tried to head down the staircase. 

“Fuck!”

“We need to get him…” Commie said, under his breath.

The two of them had sounded a little weird, and both seemed to want to stare at the blue-purple thing. Ancom saw a smirk appearing on their face. 

Commie appeared to almost twirl his hammer around as it crashed onto one of the steps – his head tilting. The soft red Ideology had fled – he was nowhere to be seen. Mutualist? Where was Mutualist? Hiding along the stairwell, blinking, just blinking over and over, he looked sick.

“Get him…” 

No, no, that Indigo figure, they must have been doing something, something that was distracting them, with no need for weapons at that. 

The Indigo figure then tried to throw a punch at Commie with their weak arms. Natural prowess for combat, Ideological clashes. They had some kind of ability. Was that ability entrancing Commie somehow?

_ Crash! _

The hammer crashed along the ground again. The Indigo Entity jumped down the stairwell, running from the two other Ideologies that were chasing them, but not far enough so that they wouldn’t be seen by any of the other leftists. They didn’t seem to mind Mutualist, who was still standing there confused. 

Commie growled, fire in his bright red eyes. 

The Communist might have been entranced by the Indigo creature’s movements but, despite every single overwhelming impulse inside of Ancom’s body, qui knew that qui had to resist. What was the Indigo Ideology doing? Trying to taunt them like this, getting them away from the actual Nazi? Why would someone, even those of the same quadrant, really want to defend a Nazi, though? How stupid would they have to be?

_ Self-Control. Remember Self-control. _

Looking at poor Mutualist with sympathy was helping.

Ancom had to remember that qui wasn’t here simply for the battle, to lose quemselves in fury, qui was here to help the people, to help everyone.

“You should come and get me,” the Indigo entity said, on staggered breath.

“Ugh! You’re not getting away from us!” Screamed Anqueer, who punched the wall, punched the air, and then the face of the purple-ish Ideology.

The Indigo Ideology screamed and started to fall down the stairs.

Commie laughed. Anqueer cheered.

Mutualist moved out of the way as Commie stormed down the stairway. His hammer arisen into the air again. “Come back here, you little bitch!”

The orange Ideology, ran covering his head with his hands over to Ancom. Mutualist still seemed uncomfortable but hadn’t followed the AuthRight. It was likely he hadn’t the time or the brainpower to focus on the rogue purple Ideology and thus had been saved from whatever power that it held. 

The Indigo entity was up against the wall, below the first row of stairs and above the second row, nearly falling by the weight of Commie’s hammer as the end of it clipped their leg. Had it left a scar? Ancom wondered. Ancom hoped.

Did Ideology blood even look red, or did it change to whatever glow that the Ideology held? Ancom was a little disgusted by the idea that qui might have bright green blood, but if it was something else that set quem apart from those AuthRights qui loathed, then Ancom would take it. 

The other two scampered. They had abandoned the idea of fighting a real Nazi so that they could fight his friend. Ancom was glad that qui hadn’t fallen for the charms of the Indigo Ideology. Ancom still holding steady, he looked over to Mutualist, who had run to the side of the window, looking awful, jittery as if he was overwhelmed by even the mere sight of combat. 

Ancom stopped think about the Nazi on the other side of the wall from quem and walked over to Mutualist; instead, Ancom gently touched Mutualist’s shoulder. Mutualist himself looked up at Ancom gently and sighed. As he smiled, some of his jittering breaks from reality appeared to calm.

“Hey, Mutualist, is something up?” Ancom asked.

“I think I’m good for now, especially since those three cleared off.”

“The transformation… is that the reason you got so sick? Are you an Egoist now? Are you!?”

Mutualist shook his head rapidly. “No, no, no. I’m still a Mutualist, I think, so it’s not that. All those Ideology abilities going off at once. I think it messed with my synchronisation.”

“Messed with your synchronisation?”

“You know different abilities affect different Ideologies in different ways, right? Abilities from the opposite quadrant actually tend to do less to one another. They are the Ideologies who tend to fight each other the most, so it’s like a form of defence they have. Then again, it also makes their fights end up much more gruesome in the long run. Any eager Mutualist would be overjoyed to engage in combat with a Nazi, but off-compasses, in general, act weirdly to all abilities, most of them resistant to nearly every single one. I can only assume that my Egoist half wanted to block everything out, whereas some Mutualist part of myself was quickly becoming enraged. But then, all that happened was I just started to feel sick.”

Ancom continued to rub Mutualist’s shoulder, hoping that his jolting out of reality would get better. If not, it was good that Ancom could provide some comfort.

“Are you uh, re-synchronisation yet?”

“I’m getting there. I’m starting to hear my own voice again.” Mutualist placed his hand on the windowsill next to him.

Ancom looked back at the door, the one that the Indigo Ideology had come through and the one that contained filthy fascist that they must have been protecting inside. Cuius friend needed quem, but that pull, that distraction, was still present. 

Mutualist’s form appeared to be coming together again. He was breathing in and out slowly. 

Ancom lifted cuius hand away and couldn’t resist asking the question, “So, are you still wanting to do what you came here to do?”

“And… that thing being?” 

“We have a fascist to fight, Mutualist! No, worse, a Nazi!”

Mutualist shut his eyes. “You know what? Yes! I’m still a Mutualist, and if I give in to on-compass demands, maybe it can stay that way for a bit longer, so I’m willing to go through whatever pain that it might give me.”

“Really?!”

“I can hope, and… I’m excited for this. That and, even if something overwhelms me, I think I can trust you, Ancom. I’ve told you so much already. I have a feeling that you won’t let me down.”

Ancom’s eyes widened. This was something that qui had been longing to hear since qui realised what being an Anarcho-Communist actually meant in this world, perhaps cuius whole life. The camaraderie, real camaraderie alongside people who believed in one another.

Qui leaned into Mutualist almost as if qui was giving him a small hug, then qui jumped back towards the door and asked brightly, “Should I bust it open?”

“Be my guest!”

Ancom twirled cuius bat around cuius fingers. Weaponry. Majesty. Ancom stared at the white-painted door, cuius eyes refined into a deep stare. Ancom lifted cuius hands, and with a swish, there was a crack in the doorframe. The paint coming off, splitting, the wood, light coloured shards flying across the plush carpet below quem. Ancom kept hitting the door, with it, more of the door started to come apart, a small hole, an opening appeared. 

As Ancom turned behind quem, qui noticed a smile appearing on Mutualist’s face. Not the same smile as the one on his face when Ancom had comforted him. It was a smirk. Ancom nodded back.

The door started to fall away, the mix of joy and rage inside of Ancom increasing. Qui was so ready for destruction! Ancom could see some of the room more clearly: dull wallpaper and furniture of brown wood. The place had no character, no induvial identity, no sign that there was a Nazi living in there, or that anybody was living in there at all. Ancom wondered if it was the school staff that were preventing people from so much as putting a poster in their room, but Ancom probably wouldn’t want to look at whatever poster a fascist would put up anyway, qui would rather destroy it.

Qui screamed as qui dealt what was the final blow to the door. Now there was just enough space for Ancom and Mutualist to walk through. A jiggered and spikey space, but a space nevertheless. Ancom didn’t care much for what others would consider ‘property damage’, especially if they belonged to especially selfish or lavish people, or statists. The school staff was certainly not a group of people that Ancom needed to respect. 

The gap in the door should have at least been large enough to see the Nazi that was inside. Ancom was shocked that he hadn’t reacted to the door being destroyed. Maybe he didn’t care; maybe he was hiding? Maybe he was already scared of the two of them. Ancom imagined it. This cowering AuthRight might have already been at the mercy of them. 

Then again, there was the smallest doubt inside of Ancom’s head, a small enraging thought. The idea that Commie had lied to quem. Commie had still chased after the other AuthRight, who must have been protecting something, someone. It was just Ancom’s suspicion creeping into cuius brain again. Ancom had a mission, qui needed to ignore it. 

Ancom stepped through the door, ducking under the pointy opening that qui had left for quemself. Following quem was Mutualist, silent. Ancom then started to shift around the room, cuius shoes grinding into the threadbare carpet. Ancom leaned over toward a dresser on the left of quem, bashing cuius baseball bat against it. Tapping and tapping again, the sound increasing each second. It should have been enough as a call to battle.

Mutualist was standing by and waiting, trying not too get too worked up. He still needed to be careful of his mood and state, best that Ancom quemself do most of this. Mutualist as cuius companion.

Instead of searching around the room, this time, Ancom announced cuius arrival with cuius voice, “Hey, Nazi, come out, some of us are here to deal with you!”

There was no reply, but, on the other side of the room, Ancom noticed something quaking under one of the bedsheets. So, there was someone here? Ancom smiled to quemselves, knowing that qui was just that frightening to the supposed Nazi.

“Well, it does look like someone is here.”

Ancom headed over to the bed and pulled off the sheets, and, yes, underneath it, there was a person. Bright blue, the colour you would expect an extreme AuthRight to be. He was huddled over, shaking and clutching a gun. By assessing the uniform that it was wearing, the armband on one of its arms – yep, that had to be the Nazi. Not creatures known for cowering, weren’t they supposed to be obsessed with strength? 

Then the Nazi screeched. Eyes striking upward. Great blue pits that they were. Tired and soulless. Ancom’s bat was still at cuius side, as he raised his firearm toward Ancom’s face. Shaking. Shaking. So much shaking.

“What is it, you fucking gross degenerate, what the fuck? Get out of my sight. Get out of my sight right now! Get out. Get-”

The gun fired off.

Just as Ancom was lifting up cuius hand. 

The bullet went right through the palm of Ancom’s hand. 

Ancom stepped back, but after the cold metal hit quem, a small splash of blood later, qui felt nothing. A tickle. As Ancom pulled the silvery shards from cuius hand, qui thought that it might scar with time at the most. Qui was also upset by cuius lack of green blood. 

So qui did still bleed the same colour as the Nazi did? Upsetting.

Before the Nazi had time to fire the weapon again, Ancom pressed down on his back. Despite Ancom not being all that strong, the Nazi dropped the gun and appeared already resigned to whatever his fate was going to be.

“Oh, fuck it. Do whatever. I don’t deserve this body anyway.”

The rage which Ancom once felt, overwhelming, found itself dwindling, once a rampaging fire was now dwindling to a candle flame. Upon a second look, Ancom realised that fascist had already been injured, likely from another source. Ancom hitting his body once wouldn’t have caused injuries like that.

He appeared to have bruising on his face, and parts of his costume had been torn. If Ancom were to guess what had happened, qui would have estimated that he had tried running away from something. Had that blasted Commie already tried to fight him? Without telling Ancom? 

Ancom hit it at the fascist again. This time, qui aimed for the head. 

It was enough to throw the blue body backwards. 

“Now you’ve done it, fucking scum! You don’t deserve to be breathing you-” 

Despite being yelled at with horrible words, Ancom’s anger was still dwindling. Ancom didn’t really want to admit it to quemselves, but qui was a little sad. This blue man was just pathetic. Barely a worthy opponent.

Ancom looked behind quem; Mutualist appeared to be stable; he wasn’t getting overwhelmed either. Whatever Ideological abilities the Nazi had, he wasn’t using them. Maybe he didn’t even know how to use them?

The AuthRight looked scared of Ancom, but he didn’t seem the type to really acknowledge the fact that he was afraid.

Ancom threw cuius bat on the ground and stepped away. Qui saw blood emerging from the top of the Fascist’s head. A small amount streaking for beneath his hair. The Nazi barely seemed to notice that he was bleeding, 

“What are you even doing? Why stand there? Aren’t you here to fight me? Then fight me!”

_ He was far too weak. _

Ancom cursed quemself for not being able to tear apart the Fascist clearly in front of cuius. Qui saw quemselves as a mostly sympathetic person… to those that deserved it. But to feel sympathy for a Nazi, the very idea of it was horrendous.

“I can’t. I just can’t. How on earth am I supposed to fight someone so pathetic! Even if it’s a goddamn Nazi!”

“I’m not a Nazi!” the blue figure sounded as if he was close to crying.

Was Ancom mistaken?

“You’re not a Nazi? You’re clearly an extreme AuthRight; what the heck are you supposed to be!”

Regardless this was still a disgusting authoritarian, even if the name he was carrying didn’t perhaps carry the same connotations. Ancom wasn’t here for connotations though, qui was here for the firm hand of justice, and, well, qui also would have been here to make an example of the AuthRight and make sure that the school citizens knew that they were safe from fascism…

Qui couldn’t do that now. Overwhelmed by whatever Ideology spirit was driving quem qui just had to rush into a place where there was a Nazi looking for a fight. Qui had forgotten cuius own plan, briefly. Ugh, well, maybe the Commie was making an example of the AuthRight’s friend downstairs – if he wasn’t busy being traitorous.

Ancom was protecting someone, qui supposed, qui was protecting Mutualist, that was enough.

“I’m not a Nazi! I’m not. I’m not a Nazi! ‘The Navigator’ made a mistake! A mistake, I tell you! It lied to me! I shouldn’t be like this! It was a mistake,” his shouting turned to screaming.

“Is this a lie!?” Ancom spat.

“No, that’s not a lie. I think he’s right,” said Mutualist.

“What do you mean?”

“I can hear ‘The Navigator’ inside my head, and it’s telling me… that he’s telling the truth.”

“Nonsense! That can’t happen!” Ancom shouted. 

“Well, uh, apparently it can?”

“You can’t be siding with him, can you?”

“It’s not me, ‘The Navigator’ just seems to agree.”

“I don’t know what level of crazy and degenerate shit your fellow anarchist friend is on, but he’s correct!” The Nazi sounded smug as he butted into the conversation. 

Ancom looked at Mutualist and then that AuthRight. Mutualist didn’t seem like the type to lie, and, although qui would never ever trust a fascist, if Mutualist’s abilities were indicating that he was a truthteller, then maybe qui would believe that the AuthRight was being honest about this one thing. 

‘The Navigator’ was a powerful force, yet arcane. Could it really make mistakes that it didn’t intend to? Did it simply have another plan involved? But its entire job was to give people the right Ideology – it served no other purpose. Even if it were smart for a machine, it would be going outside its set agenda. 

“You know what, Mutualist is usually right. But I want to know, how in the World of Ideas do you think that something like that could make a mistake, convince me if you can,” Ancom said.

“Um,” the blue Ideology shuffled back even further, “Just a sense, you know? I know I could never belong where, or think that I…”

“You don’t belong? Think? Is that it! I thought your kind was known for rejecting one another!”

“It’s not… just because of that. I thought I would have been able to fix it.”

“You want to fix it?” Mutualist asked.

“Are you saying that as if it’s possible?”

Mutualist shrugged.

Ancom leaned in closer as he tried to get away, “Fine. If you refused to be called ‘Nazi’, then what do you actually want to be called. This isn’t out of respect or anything. I need to know who you think you are.”

“My name, my name is… my name…”

“Holy shit, dude, spit it out!”

“My name is James. You can call me James, nothing more, nothing less.”

In Ancom’s head, qui heard the sound of shattering glass. It was as if a metaphorical mask had fallen from the AuthRight’s face, armour which had been broken. He had seemed vulnerable before, but he was even more vulnerable now. 

Names had power, and that power was stirring inside of Ancom; qui could have annihilated James here, no contest. It was as if all of James’s weaknesses had been revealed because Ancom had failed to see him as an Ideology. 

_ Wait? James? _

Ancom knew that name from somewhere…

“James! You – didn’t you pick fights with me before we were Ideologies? Didn’t you call me an SJW all the time or something?”

“Oh, God! You remember that!” 

James showed a confuddled expression as he was likely trying to work out who on earth, the Ancom in front of him was supposed to be. Even if the moments that James had messed with quem were clear in Ancom’s mind, they must have been blurry inside of James’s, all that anger he must have held towards a faceless figure, a blur.

Ancom folded cuius arms, “I remember now that you’ve told me, you are aware names are dangerous, aren’t you?”

“I know, but it’s all I have.”

“You have some guts just telling me your name. I am already your enemy.”

“Fucking trust me, I wish I had guts. I don’t… and I don’t deserve to be here.”

“Don’t deserve to be here?”

Ancom’s sympathy was building up again. Qui couldn’t let quemself feel that way. Ancom had to bury it.

“Say, may I ask a question, to this AuthRight, James.”

“What do you want to know, orange Anarchist?”

“I’d like to know if you would like to visit ‘The Navigator’ with me, the real one.”

Ancom withheld the temptation to hit both of them with the baseball bat. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys have been okay with my slowness so far!  
> This chapter is un'betaed at the time of upload so there might be a few more errors than usual, if that is the case then, uh, sorry.
> 
> The next chapter continues the battle from the perspective of Commie. As the battle takes ahold of the Communist, will he find out something else about himself? Featuring some unexpected characters.


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